


Reunion

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/F, First Times, M/M, Other: See Story Notes, Pre-Slash, Series: Family Tree, Song Lyrics, h/c, other pairing - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 00:19:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 42,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/791866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story that asks (and answers) the question, "Whatever happened to Jim's mother?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> Some foul language. *Very* minor spoilers for Cypher, Brother's Keeper, Remembrance, and S2P2.

## Reunion

by gowestgirl

Author's disclaimer: To TPTB, thank you so much for giving us Jim and Blair. You gave them life, but I think they have more fun with us. ;-) And please don't sue. It won't get you any more than a pile of student loans anyway.

* * *

leave me alone until I committed it to paper. I actually finished writing it almost two years ago, but didn't have a computer capable of posting it until now. I have ideas for (and have already started writing) two sequels. 

Song lyrics belong to those credited, with apologies to George Michael for using his out of order. But hey, call it artistic license. All things medical are based on a smattering of research, watching lots of ER, and my own vivid imagination. Apologies in advance to any medical types appalled by glaring inaccuracies. 

Also, I had a lot of technical difficulties in getting this posted and had to do a lot of pasting and replacing and the like. I _think_ I managed to put this back into a readable form, but I apologize if there are any lingering errors. A million thanks to listmom Ann for her endless patience in talking me through said technical difficulties, and to Nita for providing the clue that led to the fix. I REALLY appreciate everyone's help. I hope you don't regret giving it once you've read the story.  <g>

Finally, thanks for the excellent beta work of my friend, lattelover. We're both new to this, so feedback, both positive and negative (but polite -- I'm sensitive!) is greatly appreciated. 

**REUNION**

I. 

I've been through many changes   
I've been touched by many things   
Been captured by the loneliness   
(that loving brings)   
Each day I feel like crying   
'Cause the pain is always there   
My heart won't stop from racing  
(Denying the despair)   
Oh the road seems oh so long   
It's so hard to carry on 

Show me someone who cares   
(Show me somebody)   
Cause I'm all out of luck  
And I'm begging for love   
Won't you show me someone who cares   
(Show me somebody who)   
Cause I'm down on my knees   
And I'm praying for love  
Praying for love again 

Keeps raining on the inside   
And the tears keep falling down   
No matter how I try it seems   
(Peace just can't be found)   
The sun is always shining  
Yet it's cloudy in my heart   
It's winter every day now   
(And everything feels blue)   
It's gonna take a little time   
But I know I'm gonna find  
(Someone to care)   
There's a burning in my soul   
I need someone to hold 

Show me someone who cares   
(Show me somebody)   
'Cause I'm all out of luck  
And I'm begging for love   
Won't you show me someone who cares   
(Show me somebody)   
Cause I'm down on my knees I'm begging you please I'm down on  
my knees And I'm praying for love   
Praying for love again 

Show Me Someone Who Cares -- Clive Griffin, N. Brown 

oOo 

I've never been a fan of reunions. Never had all that much to reminisce about or that many people I cared to reminisce with. But when she asked me to find him for her, though I doubted the wisdom of that act, I would have sooner cut off my right arm than refuse her request. I loved her that much. Besides, there was no telling how much time she had left and she needed to do this. Needed to see him. Needed some answers to the burning questions that had plagued her for almost thirty years. How could I deny her? 

"Did you find him?" she asked me that evening as I wrung out a cloth and sponged down her flushed skin. It was unusually cool for the island on that September night, but you never would have known it to look at her. Fever raged through her. Her skin almost burned my fingers to touch it, and it was obvious how intensely she felt the heat that assaulted her. She'd been near delirious with fever all day, but a clarity had returned to her eyes and I knew that the fever would soon run its course. This knowledge did not make me feel any better, though. Because the spells were getting more intense and each one left her ever more frail. While the remissions were growing shorter and farther apart. They kept telling us that there was little hope of recovery. And although I had refused to believe it before, it was becoming increasingly clear that they were right. And so I vowed to make the best of the time we had left together. I spent my days doing all that I could to keep her comfortable and happy, and my nights wondering how I would ever go on when she was no longer with me. 

"Yes, I found him. Remember? I showed you his picture yesterday." I said patiently as I smoothed back her thin, gray hair. 

Her eyes, once a brilliant sky blue, now faded with time, closed as she tried to remember. I wondered if she was drifting off, when she finally opened her eyes and spoke. 

"Yes. Yes, I remember. So handsome." she said weakly. 

"Yes. He's very handsome." 

"When can we see him?" 

"Next week when we go to Cascade to see the doctors. We'll see him then." 

A frown creased her already wrinkled brow. "He'll hate me." 

"He won't hate you. You'll explain. He'll understand." 

"How...how can I make him understand? I don't even understand." 

"We'll explain together, you and I." 

"What if he won't forgive me?" 

"Then you'll still have me. You'll always have me." I whispered. 

"Yes. I do love you." 

I smiled at the declaration. No matter how many times she said it, it always made my heart skip a beat. "I know." 

She began to cough, then, the attack wracking her painfully thin frame. I offered her a sip of water and held her until the fit had passed. By the time she calmed, she had exhausted what little energy she had and she eased back into the down-filled pillows and drifted into a fitful sleep. I covered her with the well worn quilt that she had sown by hand during our first year on the island and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. The fever would pass within the next couple of days and she would seem much improved to those who didn't know her well enough to know how vibrant she had been such a short time earlier. But the fever would return with even greater ferocity if it followed the established pattern. And we had much to accomplish during the short respite from the illness. So, while she slept, I sat at our battered little desk and put the finishing touches on our plans. 

oOo 

I couldn't stifle my sigh as I stared at the pattern of city lights dancing on the ceiling. And as aI studied the reflections on the exposed brick with far more intensity than the task deserved, I felt a crushing pressure constricting my chest. For a fleeting second, I wondered if I was having a heart attack; if I'd had one Wonderburger too many. Then I recognized the pain for what it was. Emptiness. A void so big the Grand Canyon could fit inside with room to spare. Jesus, what would it take to make this pain go away? I didn't think I could take it much longer. 

I felt the displacement of the air seconds before the feather-light touch of fingertips trailed down my arm and I suppressed a shudder. But I couldn't stop myself from rolling my eyes, knowing that it didn't matter because she couldn't see my face in the darkened room. And as the red-laquered fingertips moved from my arm to my chest to trace figure eight patterns, my mind began to work furiously to figure out some excuse, any excuse at all, to get this woman out of my bed and my home. Whether it was psychosomatic or not, I'm not sure, but I didn't have to think for long. My body supplied the excuse for me in the form of the onset of a blinding migraine. 

"What's the matter?" 

The high-pitched voice was actually physically painful as I pulled myself out of bed and shrugged into my robe, not bothering to turn on the light because I knew it would hurt my eyes. 

"I'm sorry, Theresa. It's not you. It's me." 

"Did I do something wrong?" 

I moved back to the bed and sat down, wincing at the feel of each and every thread of my robe pressing into my skin. My senses were about to go haywire. I could feel it coming and I knew, intuitively, that it was going to be bad. I didn't have the time or the energy to make up some logical explanation for why I needed her to get out. 

"No, you didn't do anything wrong. It's me. I'm not feeling well. I have a headache. I'm going to go downstairs and make some tea." 

I stood, hoping she would get the hint. But I was not to be that lucky. 

"I could massage your temples for you." she purred suggestively. 

"No. Thank you. I just need some peace and quiet." I ground out with all the patience I could muster. My head was beginning to pound. Soon it would be unbearable. 

She sat up, pulling the pale yellow sheets to her chest. Her full, red lips turned to an indignant pout. "Are you asking me to leave?" 

"I think that might be best. I wouldn't be much fun. I really am sorry." I said and I retreated downstairs without giving her a chance to reply. 

In the kitchen, I searched desperately through the cabinets for the aspirin, finally locating the bottle and swallowing three tablets dry. I rested my forehead against the cool plaster of the wall as I felt the tablets slide down my throat and prayed that I hadn't waited too long. 

With the tablets hopefully doing their job, I located the kettle and put it on to brew. As I stood there, staring at nothing in particular, I saw the light go on upstairs and heard Theresa stomp out of bed and struggle into each piece of clothing. And when the faintly acrid scent of her anger drifted down to me, I turned down my dials. The last thing I needed was a sensory overload on top of a migraine. 

I couldn't blame Theresa for being angry. I had used her and we both knew it. She was a nice person. She didn't deserve that. And the worst part was that I couldn't bring myself to care enough to even feel bad about it. What's more, anyone with eyes could see what a fool I was. She was gorgeous; long, lustrous red curls, huge emerald green eyes, legs that went on forever and felt like silk when they'd been wrapped around me just minutes earlier. Men tripped over themselves just to have her look their way. And I knew this for a fact because I saw them do it every day at the police station where she worked as a secretary. Not to be immodest, but I know that I'm no slouch in the looks department. Even so, I'd been lucky to land a date with her. Better-looking guys, nicer guys than me had tried and failed. But the truth was, despite that knowledge, the evening meant nothing to me. Nothing at all. 

I cast a sideways glance at the empty bedroom that usually housed my roommate and wondered where he was tonight; who he was with. Was it Diane, or Emily, or maybe Julia? I lost track of his revolving door of girlfriends so easily. It seemed there was a new one almost every week. At that thought, I couldn't stop myself from smiling just a bit. I had no idea how the kid did it. Where he got the energy from. How he was able to separate his emotions from his hormones. Maybe it was a factor of his age. But then again, perhaps not. I had never been able to separate the two. Unlike my young friend, sex was not merely a  
recreational activity for me. I wanted to be in love with the person that shared my bed. Sure, there were times, like tonight, when my libido got the better of me and I wound up rolling between the sheets with the first pretty young thing to bat her lashes at me. But I always regretted it afterward. Just like I did now. 

Theresa stomped down the steps and came to stand in front of me, hand on hip. I looked at her and felt inexplicably tired all of a sudden. 

"So, that's it?" she demanded, her normally pale pink cheeks red with fury. 

"Yes. That's it." 

"I didn't believe the rumors. But it's true what they say about you, you know." 

"Really, what's that?" I asked, calmly, barely able to feign any interest at all, wanting nothing more than for this woman to leave so that I could be alone. 

"You're an emotionless bastard." she spat out. 

I looked down at the floor, unable to face the well-deserved contempt in her eyes. I had hurt her. I hadn't meant to, hadn't wanted to do that. I could barely force the words past the rising lump in my throat. "I'm sorry you feel that way." 

"Yeah, so am I." 

She stormed out of the loft, slamming the door behind her. Even with my dials turned down, I flinched at the thunderous sound in the otherwise still night. And as the sound waves receded, I chastised myself. I knew I should never have slept with a woman from the station, but somehow I couldn't help myself. For reasons I couldn't quite put my finger on, I'd felt particularly lonely tonight and I wanted to be with someone. Anyone. Wanted to try, no matter how futile I knew the attempt to be, to fill that massive void. But I would pay for my sins. News of the disastrous night would be all over the station by the time I arrived in the morning. 

Just then, the kettle whistled and I pulled it from the flame. I made myself a cup of that chamomile stuff Sandburg was always pushing on me when I needed to relax. I'd never admit it to him, but the stuff actually worked. I took the mug and found myself out on the balcony with the cold night air stinging my cheeks. I sipped at the tea and eventually settled myself in the adirondack chair to watch the twinkling lights of Cascade. I never even felt the zone coming on.... 

oOo 

I was feeling pretty damn good when I pulled the Volvo into my usual parking spot in front of our building that morning. My night with Stephanie had been nothing less than fantastic. I had been in rare form, if I did say so myself. So I was stepping lightly and whistling a nondescript, but decidedly cheery tune as I entered the building. Bypassing the elevator in favor of the stairs, I bounded up the three flights, glancing at my watch as I did. I had less than an hour to shower, change, and get to the University. Luckily, if Jim was true to his usual schedule -- and he was nothing if not predictable -- he would be seated at the dining table reading the morning paper over a bagel and a cup of coffee by now. So I wouldn't have to fight him to get into the bathroom first. 

The first thing I noticed when I entered the loft was the temperature. It was freezing! I glanced over and saw the open balcony doors and my mind began to race. Had we been robbed? Where the hell was Jim? I scanned the room, but everything -- TV, stereo, VCR -- seemed to be in place. Warily, I moved further into the room and glanced up to the loft, but there was no sign of Jim in his bedroom. Then I turned and that was when I saw him. Dressed in that ratty old bathrobe of his and sitting motionless in the adirondack chair on the balcony, his glazed eyes staring blankly into the distance. Jesus Christ! I raced out to the balcony and crouched in from of him, noticing as I did, the broken cup at his feet that had obviously fallen from his lax hand. I reached down and touched the cup and noted that there was no trace of warmth left in it. I touched his hand lightly. It was like ice. How long had he been like this? 

"Jim? Jim? Come on, Big Guy. Come on back." I said in my best guide voice. 

I ran my hands up and down his arms, trying to rub some warmth back into him, and I found myself wondering if the cold was having some effect on his senses. And before I knew it, my mind was devising tests we could run on him to determine the effect of the temperature on his abilities. I berated myself angrily at that thought. My first and only priority at that time should have been bringing Jim out of the zone. Nothing else mattered until that one feat was accomplished. 

"Jim. Jim. Come on, Buddy. Snap out of it. Follow my voice back. You can do it." 

He jerked, suddenly, out of the zone and stared at me with unfocused eyes. I could barely contain my gasp of relief. 

"Hey, man, are you okay? You were really zoned." 

Slowly, his eyes cleared and he studied me intently, probably listening to the sound of my racing heart. He had scared the shit out of me. 

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay." he said slowly. 

I shivered then, whether from the cold or the adrenaline rush, I'm not sure. And I ran my hands back and forth across his goosebump covered legs, trying desperately to warm him up just a little. 

"Jesus, man, you're freezing. Come inside and get warm. I'll make you some coffee." I said and I helped him to his feet and into the loft. With a shudder, I shut the balcony doors, then pulled the afghan off the back of the sofa and wrapped it around him. Then I raced into the kitchen. 

"So, what happened, man? You must have been out there for hours. What did you zone on?" 

"Ahm, I don't know. The last thing I remember is going out last night to get a little air." he said, clutching the blanket around himself. 

"Last night? For god's sake, Jim, it must have been 40 degrees last night! You could have gotten hypothermia or something! We have got to figure out what caused the zone. This could be dangerous! What if this had happened on the job! Man, I really thought we had this under control. We're going to have to do some more tests and figure out what's going on with you. Damn! I knew I should have come home last night!" I was babbling now. I knew it, but I couldn't help myself. I was really scared. 

"Whoa, Chief. Just slow down. This isn't your fault. You can't be with me "4 hours a day." 

"But, Jim...." I began, berating myself inside. Knowing that I should have anticipated this, that I should have insisted he continue the tests and exercises I had devised to strengthen his control over his senses, that I should have been there, that anything could have happened to him in that state. 

"No. No buts. It's not your fault. Nothing happened. I'm fine. I'm going to go take a shower and try to warm up. I'll have that coffee when I come out." he said and he disappeared into the bathroom. 

As I heard the shower come on, I decided to fix Jim some oatmeal. He would need more than a cup of coffee to warm him up after spending the night outside in near freezing temperatures. As I put the cereal on the stove to cook, I couldn't stop thinking about what had happened. I wracked my brain, searching my mental files for information on zones that might explain what had happened. I would have to look through my references when I got to the University. But I knew that it would be almost impossible to figure out a solution to the problem if I couldn't get Jim to tell me what he had zoned on. 

Fifteen minutes later, Jim emerged from the bathroom on a cloud of steam and raced up to his room. After a few minutes, he reemerged, dressed in a heavy wool sweater and wool slacks; unusually heavy attire for the Sentinel on an early fall morning. Clearly, he was still feeling the effects of his misadventure. I set the hot cereal and coffee on the table for him and he sat down, tucking into it heartily. 

"Thanks, Chief." he said between mouthfuls, studiously avoiding my worried gaze. 

"So, you're not going to tell me what you zoned on?" 

He sighed in exasperation. "I told you, I don't know." 

"Well, maybe if you relax and do some of your breathing exercises, it'll come back to you." 

"I don't want to do any breathing exercises." he said evenly, and the telltale muscle in his jaw began to twitch a warning. But he couldn't get rid of me so easily. Recklessly, I forged ahead. 

"Well, maybe if you could remember what you were thinking about at the time, that will give us a clue." 

"Chief, please. It's over. I'm fine. Just drop it." he said, rising from the table and taking his bowl and cup into the kitchen. 

"Jim, this is serious!" 

"I don't want to talk about it!" he growled in his this-conversation-is-officially-over tone of voice. He deposited the cup and bowl in the sink with a clank, then removed his coat from the hook and pulled it on. "I've gotta get to work. I'm gonna be late. You coming in today?" 

"Ahm, I've got a class this morning, then I've got a few errands to run. I'm gonna take a pass today. But I should be home in time for dinner." I said slowly, my mind already working furiously on ways to get Jim to open up. We would talk about this, one way or another. After all, his life could hang in the balance. I was his guide and it was my job to watch his back and make sure that he was okay and I couldn't do that without the proper information. So, if he thought this conversation was over, he was sorely mistaken. 

"All right. Later." Jim mumbled and he left with a slam of the door behind him. 

II. 

...   
If you found somebody to love in this world You'd better hang on tooth and nail   
The wolf is always at the door 

In a New York minute   
Everything can change   
In a New York Minute   
Things can get pretty strange   
In a New York minute   
Everything can change   
In a New York minute 

New York Minute -- Don Henley, Danny Kortchmar, Jai Winding 

oOo 

As promised, I was home in time for dinner. It was my turn to cook, but I was still puzzling over Jim's zone and I didn't have the patience to make a meal when it was clear that I needed to be focusing on a solution to his problem. So I ordered a pizza. It wasn't my usual healthy fare \-- I had to try to get Jim to eat something green at least a couple times per week -- but it would do in a pinch. 

While I was waiting for the pizza to arrive, I continued to pore over my reference materials. I'd spent the entire afternoon reading everything I could find on zones, and while I had a few theories about what had happened, I needed to do a bit more research to feel comfortable with my conclusions. Jim arrived a short while later, grunting non-committally when I told him that a pizza was on the way. He settled himself on the sofa with a beer and the TV remote while I continued my work. 

"Someone's coming." I heard Jim say some time later from his spot on the sofa. 

I looked up from my reading. I hated it when he did that, announced visitors before they had a chance to knock on the door. I never quite new how to respond. Was I supposed to get up and open the door and stand expectantly or sit anxiously and wait for them to knock? 

"Must be the pizza." I answered as I dug through my pockets for cash. Hey, it was one one to kill the minute or two it would take the delivery boy to reach the door. 

"No. Not pizza. I don't smell it." Jim said distractedly as he focused on the football scores on the evening news. 

Just then, there was a light knock on the door and I went to open it. I was greeted by the sight of an elderly woman dressed in a smart tweed suit and clutching one of those large handbags that always made me think of the Queen. I smiled at her and she returned the smile, her dark brown eyes crinkling at the corners. 

"Hi. Can I help you?" 

"Yes. I'm looking for James Ellison." 

I heard Jim rise from the sofa and move toward us. 

"I'm Jim Ellison." the voice boomed over my shoulder. 

A look crossed the woman's face when she saw Jim. I couldn't quite decide if it was surprise, shock, fear, or perhaps all three. 

"What can I help you with?" Jim asked when the woman didn't speak. 

"You look just like your picture." she said softly. 

"Well, that's good to know." Jim quipped dryly and I had to suppress a chuckle. 

Another awkward moment of silence passed between us and Jim spoke again. "Is there something I can do for you?" 

She opened her mouth to say something, but just then the elevator door swung open and spied the delivery boy approaching with our large pepperoni and mushroom. 

"Hey, it looks like our dinner is here. Why don't you step inside," I moved aside to let the stranger enter. "and I'll take care of this." 

I dealt with the pizza quickly, anxious to find out what this was all about, and afraid I might miss something. When I closed the door and went to quickly put the pizza in the kitchen, I heard Jim ask what the woman wanted for the third time. I moved back to his side. 

"I'm terribly sorry. Where are my manners? It's just such a shock to finally see you again after so long." the woman said, her voice shaking the slightest bit. 

"Do we know each other?" Jim asked, his voice tinged with caution and curiosity at the same time. 

"No, not really. But I saw you a couple of times when you were a young boy. I always knew you'd grow to be a handsome man." 

I looked up at Jim to give him a mocking grin at the compliment, but when I saw that muscle twitching in his jaw, I knew that he was about to lose it and the grin died on my face. 

"Look, I don't mean to be rude, but what is this about?" he asked. His tone was still polite, but anyone that knew him would have been able to tell that he was reaching the end of his rope. 

"I've come to bring a message from your mother." 

The words shocked me and I'm sure my mouth dropped open. Jim never talked about his mother. Never. I looked up at him in time to see him step back like he'd been struck. He was silent for a moment, then his eyes narrowed. When he spoke, his voice was dangerously even. 

"My mother is dead." 

"No. She's here in Cascade. And she wants very much to see you." 

I looked back and forth between them like a spectator at a tennis match. My mind was racing wildly to try to guess what would happen next. 

"Listen, Ma'am, I'm sorry that you came all the way over here, but I think you've made a mistake. My mother died almost thirty years ago." 

"I know that's what you were told, but it's not true. She's alive." 

Like the ominous rumble of a dam about to give way, I swear I could hear Jim's patience crumbling at the edges. I had a bad feeling about what might happen and I moved closer in an attempt to put myself between Jim and this woman. 

"Look, Lady, I don't know what kind of game you're playing at, but I don't find it the least bit funny." 

The voice raised a notch and the normally placid blue eyes darkened with fury. Anyone with an ounce of sense would have backed off instantly, but this woman stood her ground. Heck, she deserved a medal for bravery for that alone. I put my hand on Jim's arm to calm him a bit. I didn't think he would actually try to harm the woman in any way, but clearly she had struck a nerve and I couldn't even begin to predict what might happen. 

"This is no joke, Jim." the woman continued calmly. "Your mother is here and she sent me to ask you to come and see her." 

Then the woman reached into that great big purse of hers and pulled something out and held it up to Jim. It was an antique locket of some sort. Every ounce of color drained from Jim's face as he looked at it and he moved backwards clumsily, stumbling over the back of the couch. 

"You know what this is, don't you, Jim? Or should I say Jamie?" the woman asked kindly. 

Jamie? Jim stared at this woman like she was from Mars and his lips moved, but no sound came out. Well, maybe he wasn't going to say anything, but I sure the hell was. The curiosity was killing me. 

"What is it?" 

"Jim knows. Why don't you ask him?" 

"What is it, Jim?" 

Motionless, he continued to stare and for a second I was afraid he had zoned, but then, in a blur, he crossed the room, grabbed his coat off the hook, and raced from the apartment like it was on fire, not even bothering to shut the door behind him. I was stunned and I looked at the woman speechlessly. I couldn't even begin to think of anything to say. She smiled at me kindly and then reached back into her purse and pulled out a card. 

"This is where Jim's mother is staying. She will only be there for one week. Please tell Jim that if he chooses not to come, she'll never try to contact him again." she said and she pressed both the card and the locket into my hand. Then she turned and left without another word. 

oOo 

I jumped when I heard the key in he lock and glanced at my watch. The sun was just peeking out from beneath the horizon. It was about 6:30. I couldn't have been asleep for more than a half an hour. I had spent the night pacing and worrying about Jim. Wondering if I should go out and look for him or perhaps call Simon. But ultimately, I'd decided to just leave him be. The man was a former black ops ranger, after all. He could fend for himself. And god knows I would have needed a bit of space if someone had dropped a bombshell like that in my lap. 

I pulled myself off the sofa as Jim entered. He looked like hell, clothes rumpled, face shadowed with stubble, eyes red and swollen as if he'd been crying. Jim crying? 

"Don't." he warned, before I could say a word and he walked wearily up the stairs. 

I heard the rustle of clothes as he disrobed and looked on in surprise as I heard the heavy metal of his coat zipper hitting the hard wood floor and saw his wool sweater sail through the air and perch precariously on the loft railing. Then I heard the creak of springs and all was quiet. Jim had gone to bed. 

As quietly as I could, I cleared my coffee cups from the living room and went into the kitchen. I placed the cups in the sink and tossed the long forgotten and now disgustingly cold and congealed pizza that should have been last night's dinner. Then I retreated to my own room. Sleep wasn't such a bad idea. I was beat, and clearly there would be no discussion of last night's events for the time being. So there was nothing to be done. And it didn't appear as if Jim planned on going to work today. Either he had called Simon before he'd come home or he just didn't give a rat's ass. I suspected it was more likely the latter than the former, and that was okay, too. Jim was the best officer in the whole damn precinct and I couldn't think of one time he'd even taken a sick day since I'd known him. Furthermore, I knew for a fact that Simon had to beg Jim to take vacation because his unused time was a huge liability on the department's budget. So Simon could cut him some slack this once. 

I removed the dusty texts and assorted papers from my bed and crawled underneath the comforter. We definitely had some stuff to work through, but at least I knew that Jim was safe. And with that knowledge, I was able to fall asleep. 

oOo 

I could smell coffee in the air when I awoke for the second time that day. Stifling a groan, I got out of bed and pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. When I emerged from my room, Jim was sitting at the dining table with a cup of coffee in one hand and the antique locket in the other. I had left both the locket and the card with the address of the hotel on the dining table for Jim to see. I didn't say anything as I went and poured myself a cup of coffee and then sat at the table across from him. He was absorbed with the locket, staring at it and running his finger repeatedly over the floral pattern engraved on it. I wondered if he even knew I was there. 

I wasn't used to this Jim. This silent, brooding Jim. The Jim I knew and loved yelled and screamed and occasionally threw people against walls when he was hurt or scared or angry. This other side rarely came out. And on the few occasions that it had, I'd always found it a little eerie because I realized that he must have been in so much pain that there was simply no way to alleviate it. And so he just endured it silently until it had run its course. 

To my shock, he spoke without any prompting on my part. But then maybe I shouldn't have been surprised after all. Some things were just too big to keep bottled up inside. Even for Jim Ellison. 

"Steven was always his father's son in every sense of the word. Even grew up to be a businessman just like Pops. But me and Mom, we had a bond that was absolutely unbreakable." 

He spoke so quietly I almost had to strain to hear him. And I sat perfectly still for fear of missing a word. 

"Sometimes I have trouble remembering a lot of things about her, but there's one thing I'll never forget. She used take me out to the back yard and sit on this old swing hanging from our oak tree and pull me into her lap and together we'd just swing back and forth. We'd feel the breeze on our faces and listen to the birds and the squirrels, and the wind rustling though the leaves. We would never speak at those times. Didn't seem to need to. We would both just get lost in the sights and sounds around us. 

"And god she was so beautiful. To this day I've never seen a woman who could hold a candle to her beauty. She had this long, silky brown hair and pale blue eyes. Her lips, her lips felt like butterfly wings when she'd kiss me on the forehead before sending me off to school in the morning. And I remember the dresses that she wore, they were so soft against my skin when I hugged her or when she sang me to sleep with my head in her lap. And she always smelled like roses, but not overpoweringly so. It was subtle. Pleasant. Just right. 

"She called me Jamie. She was the only person who ever did that. My dad hated it. Said Jamie was a girl's name and insisted that she call me Jimmy instead, but she never did. I always hated the name Jimmy, anyway. Still do." 

He opened the locket then and peered inside it. A look I couldn't define crossed his face for just a moment and was pushed down just as quickly. Then he continued. 

"I was nine when she left. I didn't really understand what divorce was at the time, but somehow I knew that she was going to be leaving us. I could hear them fighting at night as I lay there in the dark. I could feel the tension around the breakfast table, that is, when Dad was even there. I knew it wasn't right. 

"But I was still devastated once she was gone. Dad was never around. He spent 16 hours a day at work, but that was nothing new. So, I couldn't understand why we couldn't go live with Mom. But instead, Sally came to work for us and she was the one who saw us off in the morning and made us dinner and checked our homework and tucked us in. Sally's a good person and she did a good job looking after us, but it just wasn't the same, you know?" 

I nodded. I know that no matter how much they tried, none of my mother's boyfriends ever take the place of having a real dad. So, I could well imagine. 

"Mom got a little apartment across town and for about a year after she and Dad split up, we'd spend every other weekend with her. Sometimes we'd even get to spend a week or two if Dad was out of town on business. 

"Stephen never wanted to go. He was so angry with her for leaving that he'd spend the entire weekend throwing tantrums and sometimes he just refused to come at all. But I ate those weekends up. Didn't want to leave when Sally came to pick us up on Sunday night. I'd throw my arms around Mom and refuse to let go until she kissed me on the forehead and whispered into my ear that she loved me and she'd see me again real soon. 

"But after a while the visits got farther apart. Sometimes only once a month. Sometimes we'd still see her twice a month but it would only be for the day and we wouldn't get to spend the night. And I knew something was wrong. I could see how sad she was when she said goodbye to us each time and I'd ask her what was wrong, but she'd always just say that it was nothing for me to worry about. 

"Then one day Pops told us that Mom had gone on a trip and that she would be gone for while so we wouldn't get to see her. I kept asking where she had gone and why she had left without saying goodbye, but he would never tell me. Would only say that children shouldn't concern themselves with adult matters. 

"About two months after that, Dad called us into his office at home one afternoon." he took a deep, shaky breath. "God, I remember this like it was yesterday." he said, closing his eyes. 

I could guess what was coming next and I reached out and put my hand over his. Partly to offer comfort, partly to stop the convulsive contractions of his fist. He was squeezing the little locket so tightly that I was afraid it would crumble beneath the pressure. 

"I remember it because it was summer and it was a weekday. When Sally called us inside and told us Dad wanted to see us in his study, I couldn't understand why he was home from work in the middle of the day. And then I knew, instinctively, that something really bad must have happened and I just wanted to run away to anyplace but that room. 

"We went into the study and he sat us down on this big leather sofa he had. And I remember that everything seemed so intense. I could hear the ticking of the grandfather clock and the musty smell of all the books lining the shelves seemed overwhelming and I felt this dread like nothing I had ever experienced before. Then he told us that there had been an accident and that Mom had been killed. Stephen started crying right away and Dad tried to comfort him. But I was just so stunned I don't think I felt anything at all for a few minutes. Then, all of a sudden I felt like the walls were closing in on me and I had to get out of there. I ran up to my room and threw myself on the bed and I cried and cried and cried. Sally tried to comfort me for a while, but got worried when I wouldn't calm down. Then my father came up and he tried to offer some comfort, too, but I couldn't be consoled. And finally, he got frustrated and told me to shape up, be a man, and stop bawling like a baby." 

I felt my own rage boiling up when I heard this. I'd never thought much of William Ellison, but how he could be so insensitive to Jim's pain when he'd just found out that his mother was dead, I would never be able to understand. "Be a man!" For god's sake, he'd only been ten-years-old! When I was able to swallow back the anger, I refocused on Jim. He deserved my full attention. He may not have gotten the support he needed then, but I'd be damned if I wouldn't do everything I could to give it to him now. 

"I stopped crying after that, but then I just shut down. I'm pretty sure now that I zoned. Sally told me later that I wouldn't respond to anyone or anything and that they were so frantic that they called in a doctor who gave me a shot of something that put me to sleep. They must have kept me drugged up for days. When I finally woke up, Dad told me that the funeral was over, and again I became frantic. I'd missed it. I'd never gotten the chance to say good-bye. I ran into Stephen's room and asked him about it, but he said that he hadn't gone either. Dad wouldn't let him. Said he was too young to understand. 

"This," he said, holding up the locket. "This was her locket. It had belonged to my great-grandmother once. Mom never took it off. Never. I asked Dad, after he'd told me about the funeral, if I could have this locket. I just wanted one thing to remember her by. But he said it was gone; she'd been buried in it." 

He stared at the gold in his palm and his voice was distant when he spoke again. I wondered if he was speaking to me or to himself. "She was the second person I lost that year that I loved. 

I nodded, remembering what had happened to Jim's mentor, Bud. 

"No one in the family ever spoke of Mom after that. Oh, I'd hear whispers sometimes and catch the end of her name and look up to see my aunt or my grandmother or some other relative looking at me oddly. And I knew they were talking about her, but I never knew what about, specifically. I had the feeling that whatever it was, it wasn't good because they never spoke about her openly. 

"Dad, in particular, never said a word. The mere mention of her name in his presence caused him to get angry. And everything that had been hers or was connected to her in some way was removed from the house. It was like she had never existed and no one would ever tell me why. Eventually, I stopped asking, but I was numb after that. Perhaps I still am. I don't know. I don't know anything anymore." he said and he wiped at the tears that had started flowing about half way through the story. 

"I found myself wiping at my own tears, then. Jim was so intensely private, he had never opened up to me this way before. And I knew that talking about this had to be tearing him up inside. 

"Jim, that woman said your mother will only be at this address for another week. She said that if you choose not to come see her that she will never try to contact you again." I said as gently as I could. I hated to bring it up, didn't want to pressure him. But I knew Jim well enough to know that his method of dealing with things was to avoid them and hope they'd go away. That often worked for him, but he couldn't do that this time. If he did, he'd never know what was really going on, and that would surely kill him. 

"I... I don't think I can do it, Chief. I don't think I can deal with this." he said miserably. 

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to, Man. But I know you. If this is for real and you let her leave and you don't find out what's going on, you'll never be able to live with yourself." "Why? Why would she do it? How could she abandon me like that?" 

"There must have been a reason, Jim. A really good reason for her to do what she did." 

"What reason justifies abandoning your children? What could she possibly say after all this time to make that okay? And how could she lie to me? How could they all have lied to me?" 

"There's only one way to find out." 

He rubbed at his reddened eyes and let out a sigh of pure frustration and despair. 

"If you want, I'll go with you. You don't have to do this alone." 

"I don't know. I don't know." he mumbled and he dropped the locket on the table, then rose and disappeared into the bathroom. 

oOo 

Jim showered and changed then came out and had another cup of coffee and a couple slices of toast. But he ate mechanically, without the slightest trace of enjoyment or even recognition. I had the feeling that I could have slipped him a piece of styrofoam in place of one of the bread and he wouldn't have batted an eye. 

We didn't speak. There didn't seem to be all that much to say. Besides, I could almost hear the wheels in Jim's head turning as he worked through everything. 

I hung around discreetly in case he felt the need to talk again, but by late afternoon he seemed edgy and I decided to go over to the University to give him some space. I stayed away for a couple of hours and when I returned that night, he was leaning against the balcony doors, staring out over the city. 

"I'm going to go see her, Chief." he said as I hung up my coat. 

I turned to him. "I think it's the right thing to do, Jim." 

"Will you.... will you come with me?" he asked and he looked up at me, his blue eyes pleading. 

"Of course I'll come with you." 

"Okay. We'll go in the morning." he said and he went upstairs to his room. 

I went to bed myself not long after that. I had the feeling that tomorrow was going to be a very long day and I would need my rest. 

**III.**

We were up early the next morning. We ate breakfast with a minimum of conversation and I could tell by the way he fiddled with his coffee cup that Jim was really nervous. 

Jim's mother was staying at the Cascade Regency Hotel and by the time we arrived there, Jim was pale and sweating and looking distinctly unhappy. As we entered the simple, but tastefully furnished lobby, I kept my eye on him because I actually feared he might turn and bolt from the room at any second. So I took care of the details for him, trying to make this a bit easier, if such a thing was possible. I went up to the house phone and picked it up. 

"Grace Ellison's room, please." 

The phone rang twice before it was answered. 

"Hello." 

I recognized the voice as belonging to the woman who had visited us two nights earlier. 

"Ah, hi, this is Blair Sandburg. We met at Jim Ellison's two nights ago." 

"Yes, Mr. Sandburg, I remember you." 

"Well, uhm, I'm here right now with Jim. We're in the lobby." 

There was a moment of silence before she spoke again. 

"We're in room 11"5. Please come up." 

"Thanks." 

I hung up the phone and looked up at Jim. 

"She said they're in room 11"5." 

Jim nodded dully and we moved to the elevator. 

oOo 

I hung up the phone and rushed into the bedroom as fast as my old legs would carry me. Grace was standing by the mirror, brushing her shoulder-length hair slowly. She was dressed in the long navy velvet skirt and gray cashmere sweater I had bought her after we arrived in Cascade. They'd been terribly expensive and we really couldn't afford it, especially given our medical expenses as of late, but I couldn't help myself. Twenty-seven years in the tropics and her weakened condition made her feel the cold intensely, even though most locals would have considered the weather nothing more than slightly chilly. But these clothes kept her warm and comfortable so they were worth every cent. She looked up when she heard me approach. 

"Are we ready to go for our walk?" 

"Grace," I said quickly, barely able to contain my excitement. "He's here." 

The brush stopped in mid stroke. 

"He's here?" 

"Just called from the lobby. They're on their way up." 

She stood there silently, obviously shocked at the thought of seeing her son again for the first time in almost three decades. After I'd told her about my meeting with Jim and a day had passed with no word from him, I knew that she had started to lose hope that the reunion would ever take place. Truth be told, I'd had my own doubts as well. But now he was here. She seemed to falter a bit and I rushed to her side and put my arm around her and led her to the armchair by the window. I took the brush from her still hand and set it on the nightstand. She seemed to snap out of it then and she looked at me. 

"Do I look okay?" she asked nervously. 

"You look beautiful." I said as I lovingly tucked a wayward strand behind her ear, and then I rushed to hurriedly make the still rumpled bed. With that done, I quickly surveyed the room to make sure everything was presentable. I noted that the tea service from breakfast was still on the nightstand. I felt it. It was still hot and three-quarters full. I moved the tray to the table next to Grace's chair and set two clean cups on it. 

"In case you want some tea." I said, glancing at her nervous form. 

Just then, there was a knock at the door. Grace's eyes grew wide. 

"That will be him." I said. 

Her hands twisted nervously in her lap. "Yes." 

"Do you want me to stay?" 

She hesitated. "No. No. I need to see him alone." 

"Okay. I'd better get the door, then." 

I planted a kiss on her cheek. And when I did, she grabbed my hand, suddenly, and looked up at me, panic in her eyes. 

"What if....?" 

"You'll be fine." I reassured. "Just relax. Stay calm. And remember, I'll be right downstairs if you need me." I said and with a squeeze of her hand, I went to open the door. 

oOo 

We rode up in the silence and then walked down the hallway to the indicated room. Pausing in front of the door, I noted that Jim looked absolutely green. 

"Hey, man, you gonna be all right?" 

"Let's just get this over with." he said quickly. 

I nodded, then turned and knocked on the door. Several long minutes passed before the door opened. The same woman from the previous evening stood before us. She smiled and motioned us in. 

"I'm afraid I never did introduce myself. I'm Ingrid Price." she said, extending her hand. I shook it, but Jim stood frozen in place. 

"I'm so glad you decided to come, Jim. Your mother is waiting for you in the bedroom." 

Jim nodded. Then Ingrid looked at me. "Mr. Sandburg, would you care to join me downstairs for a cup of tea?" 

I turned to Jim for some indication of what he wanted me to do. 

"It's.... It's okay, Chief." he stammered after a moment. "Go ahead." 

"Whatever you say, Jim. I'll just be right downstairs if you need me." 

"Yeah. Right." Jim said distractedly, staring now at the doorway to the bedroom. 

"Right, then." I said and I offered my arm to Ingrid and we left. 

oOo 

The door clicked shut behind me and I stood there for several minutes, wondering when, exactly, my legs had turned into pillars of concrete. Finally, with a deep breath, I walked toward the bedroom. Halfway there, the scent of roses greeted me and I stopped dead in my tracks. My heart was beating so fast I was afraid it might burst through my chest. I closed my eyes for a second, digging down deep for strength, then continued on. 

When I reached the door, I saw her, sitting in the armchair next to the picture window. She looked up at me and I knew. I knew instantly that it was her. The hair, once a rich chestnut brown, was almost completely white, and her face now wore the signs of age, but even for all of that, she was no less beautiful than I remembered. 

I stood there, staring stupidly, unable to think or move or speak. Then she reached out her hand to me and spoke. 

"Jamie." 

It was just one word, but when the sound of that angelic voice reached my ears, I absolutely lost it. I felt the tears burning my eyes and I clutched at my chest, unable to breathe past the constriction of my throat. Then I found myself moving mechanically to where she sat and I dropped to my knees in front of her and laid my head in her lap. And as she stroked my hair, I cried deep, wracking sobs that hurt my chest like I'd been punched. And I didn't stop for a very long time. 

oOo 

It's true that I'm generally known for my verbal gymnastic skills, but the events of the last few days had left me uncharacteristically speechless. Although my mind was racing, I couldn't think of a thing to say as Ingrid and I went down to the hotel's coffee shop and found a table in a quiet corner. 

I ordered coffee and she requested Earl Grey Tea. While we waited for our drinks, I fidgeted childishly with my silver and the sugar packets and the creamer. By the time the waitress brought our order, I'd finally found my tongue. 

"Well, this is... this is...." I scoured my brain for the appropriate word, but it escaped me. Over "0 years of education and I couldn't form one coherent sentence. 

"Awkward. Rather awkward." Ingrid supplied. 

"Yes. That it is." I echoed, and I gulped at my coffee, burning my tongue just a bit. 

"So," I began after a minute. "how do you know Jim's mother?" 

"We're mates." 

Surprise sent the coffee sailing down the wrong pipe and I choked on the bitter liquid and coughed a few times before looking up at Ingrid from beneath the hair that had fallen in my face. 

"Excuse me?" 

"Mates. Lovers." 

"Ahm.... the term they use these days is partner." I said slowly. 

"Really? Oh. Well, we don't get much exposure to popular culture in our little corner of the world." 

I nodded and took another sip of coffee. 

"As you can see, Mr. Sandburg, I'm a woman who doesn't mince words. I see no point in dancing around behind euphemisms and half-truths. I'd rather just say what I have to say directly. Does it bother you to find out about Jim's mother and me?" she asked, her brown eyes examining me intently. 

"Um, no. No." I said quickly. "You know, finding love is rare enough in this world; I think you take it from wherever it comes. Besides, it's not my place to pass judgment on anyone else." 

She seemed satisfied with my response. 

"Very good. And you and Jim?" 

"We're partners." I said without thinking and my head shot up with the sudden realization of what I had just implied. "On the police force. Partners at work." I added quickly. 

"So, you're a police officer?" 

"No, not exactly. I'm a consultant to the department. Actually, I'm an anthropologist working on my thesis. It's.... a long story." 

"But you live together?" 

"Well, that's kind of a long story, too. You see, my apartment burned down and Jim let me move into his place. It was supposed to be temporary, but it just sort of evolved into something more permanent." 

She nodded as she took another sip of her tea. And her gaze was so intense that I shifted uncomfortably in my seat and wondered what she was thinking. Or maybe I knew exactly what she was thinking and that's what made me uncomfortable. I changed the subject. 

"So. Your corner of the world. Where would that be?" 

"A little island called Santo Matteo." 

I scanned my mental globe for the location of the island, but couldn't place it. 

"I'm not familiar with it." 

"I'm not surprised. It won't be found on most maps. It's a very small island off the western coast of South America. Population ",000. Mostly indigenous peoples." 

"Wow. How did you end up all the way down there?" 

"It was about as far away from Cascade as we could get. Someplace where we were unlikely to be found." 

"Who were you hiding from?" I asked cautiously. 

"As you've said, Mr. Sandburg, it's a long story. One that's not mine to tell." 

"Yeah, right. Well, what brings you to Cascade after all this time? I mean, why now?" 

She paused for a second, as if she were deciding whether to tell me a secret. A look came across her face that signaled she had made up her mind. "Grace is very ill. We don't know how much time she has left." 

My hand froze halfway to raising my cup once again. "What?" 

Ingrid looked at me, but didn't respond, and I raked my hand through my hair and pinched the bridge of my nose to keep from going ballistic right on the spot. 

"Okay, let me get this straight. First, she abandons Jim when he's ten years old and lets him believe she's dead for almost thirty years. Then she just turns up out of the blue to tell him that she's dying? What kind of twisted games are you people playing?" 

Ingrid's pleasant expression grew very sober then and she straightened in her seat as if steeling herself for what she had to say. 

"Believe me, Mr. Sandburg, we are not playing games. We don't have time for such things." 

I struggled to keep a lid on my rage, to keep myself from causing a very ugly scene right there in the middle of the restaurant, and I was largely successful, but my voice did raise a notch. 

"Do you have any idea how this has torn Jim apart? How much pain it's caused him?" 

"I'm sure it's no more than than Grace has felt for thirty years." 

"Really? I'm not so sure about that. You didn't see him. You don't know what he was and what he's been reduced to since you appeared on our doorstep. I do. I was there." 

I slammed my cup down angrily, sending a spray of coffee across the table. 

"My god. Do you have any idea what you've done? What this is going to do to Jim? Did you think about him at all before you hatched this little plan?" 

"A day hasn't gone by that Grace hasn't thought of Jim. And with all due respect, I understand that you and Jim are friends and that you only have his best interests at heart, but there are things that you don't know. That you couldn't possibly understand. And until you know the facts, until you've walked a mile in our shoes, you have no right to criticize the choices we've had to make." 

"I understand that what you've done to Jim is unforgivable." I said, standing and tossing a couple of bills on the table. 

"What happened to not passing judgment, Mr. Sandburg?" 

"I misspoke earlier. I should have said that it's not my place to judge unless your actions affect me. Well, Ms. Price, Jim is the best friend I've ever had and when you hurt him, you affect me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll wait for Jim in the lobby." I said and I stormed out of the restaurant with the unpleasant knowledge that very bad stuff was definitely ahead. 

oOo 

I'm not sure how long I cried, but it seemed like forever. The entire time, I could feel her delicate fingers stroking my hair and hear her whispered reassurances. When I'd finally cried myself out, she wiped away the remnants of my tears and placed a gentle kiss on my forehead. And I had to close my eyes because it was as sweet as I remembered it and because there were so many conflicting emotions racing through me. On the one hand, I was so damn glad that she was there that I just wanted to hold her and never let go. On the other, I wanted to yell and scream and demand explanations for how she could have left me to begin with. 

"Why don't you make us some tea, Jamie." I finally heard her say. I opened my eyes to see her smiling kindly at me and I nodded my agreement. 

I was glad for the opportunity to pull myself together as I moved to the small table that held the tea service. As I opened the tea bags, placed them in the delicate cups, and poured the hot water over them, I saw Mom rise from the armchair she'd been sitting in and move slowly, carefully, to the sofa beneath the big picture window. I watched her out of the corner of my eye and noticed for the first time, as I did, that the window framed a magnificent view of the sound. And I also noticed that something about the way she moved nagged at the back of my brain, but I was so overwhelmed by all that had happened that I couldn't even begin to process it. 

I finished making the tea and moved to sit next to Mom on the sofa, purposely moving as close as I could until our knees touched. I handed her her cup and she accepted it with a smile. Then she reached out and caressed my cheek and I leaned into her touch, starving for the contact. 

"I'm so terribly sorry, Jamie. So sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. You have to believe that." 

I swallowed hard, searching for my voice. "What happened, Mom?" I thought the words might come out angry and reproachful, instead they were plaintive. 

She set her tea down and took my hands in hers and there was a flickering recognition of the fact that her hands were incredibly frail and that I could feel each and every bone beneath her skin. And again a nagging feeling gnawed at me, but I pushed it down. All I could focus on at that point was finding out what had happened. 

"Things were so complicated back then. I wasn't well and your father was fighting me for custody of you boys. He said I was an unfit mother. Maybe I was. I don't know." 

"What? No! Of course you weren't an unfit mother!" 

Something between rage and incredulity bubbled up in my chest. I was nearly livid at the thought of my father criticizing my mother. Of all the people to call someone an unfit parent. 

"Sssshhhh. It's all right. It was a long time ago." she said and she pulled me into her arms to calm me. 

"No! No, it's not all right! It's not! How could he say that?" 

Mom continued to hold me, rubbing my back in a soothing circular motion. 

"You're heart's racing like you just ran a marathon. Take a deep breath and calm down." 

I did as she instructed and I did feel myself calm down a bit, but the rage remained. I had been trying to repair the relationship between my father and myself since the incident with Aaron Foster, but no more. Not if he had played a role in taking my mother from me. 

"And don't be angry, Jamie. There's no point in it. Not any more." 

I looked up at Mom and couldn't resist grinning sadly. "You always did know exactly what I was feeling." 

"Of course. I'm your mother." she said simply. 

She picked up her cup to drink and I noticed the tremor of her hand mere seconds before the cup slipped from her fingers. She let out a yelp as the steaming liquid splashed into her lap. Immediately, I snatched up a cloth napkin from the table and blotted at the damp fabric of her skirt. 

"Mom! Are you okay?" I asked worriedly. 

"It's burning." she gasped tremulously. 

"I'll get some ice." 

Leaping to my feet, I rushed into the living room and yanked open the mini fridge I had spied when I came in. Luckily, it's tiny freezer held two ice trays. I emptied the contents of the trays into a napkin and raced back to the bedroom. When I sat down next to Mom and set the little bundle of ice in her lap, I realized she wasn't moving. I looked up to see a vacant look on her face. 

"Mom? Mom, are you okay?" 

I touched her hand but she didn't respond and a chill shot through me. Panicked, I scrambled to the phone on the nightstand and dialed the front desk. At the same time, I heard the front door open and the sound of approaching footsteps. 

"Front Desk." 

"Yes, this is Jim Ellison, Cascade PD, is there a doctor on staff? We have a medical emergency." the words came out in a rush. 

"What's the problem, Sir?" 

"We have a woman here who is having some sort of seizure or something." 

As I spoke, I saw Ingrid enter. And when she saw Mom, she rushed to her side and began to stroke her hand tenderly and speak softly to her. 

"We'll send someone right up, Sir. What room are you in?" 

Then, as Ingrid continued to speak softly, I saw Mom begin to stir. And realization slammed into me like a freight train. I could hear the front desk clerk still asking me what room I was in as I dropped the handset back into its cradle. 

"She's okay, Jim. This happens sometimes. It's nothing to worry about." Ingrid said as she took up the napkin and dabbed at Mom's wet skirt. 

I stood, glued to my spot, mouth slightly agape, praying that my legs wouldn't give out on me or that I wouldn't lose my breakfast. Or both. And I think I said something, but for the life of me, I couldn't tell you what it might have been. 

"Let me help her get changed into something dry and you two can continue your talk." Ingrid said as she helped Mom to her feet. And I saw that Mom's eyes were still slightly glazed, but were clearing quickly. 

"Ahm.... ahm.... I have to go." I stammered. 

At that, Mom became more alert. 

"Please don't go, Jamie. There's so much more to talk about." 

"No..... I have to...... I forgot something..... some work." 

I stumbled toward the sofa and grabbed my jacket. When I turned back to them, I could see the fear and confusion in Mom's eyes, and it broke my heart. 

"I'll be back. Back later." I managed and I made a hasty retreat. 

IV. 

I was sitting in the lobby trying to read the newspaper but failing miserably. It had been over an hour since I left Jim in his mother's room and I was dying to know what was going on. I debated going up to see if he was okay, but decided against it. He knew where I was if needed me. I had to let him deal with this in his own way. And as much as I wanted to protect him, I had to accept that there wasn't going to be a lot I could do to lessen his pain this time. 

I had just gone back to pretending to read the paper when I caught a blur of movement out of the corner of my eye. I looked up just in time to see Jim tear out of the elevator, across the lobby, and out the front door. 

I threw down my paper and chased after him, nearly plowing down a bellboy in the process, but by the time I reached the sidewalk, there was no sign of him anywhere. I'd driven that morning because he'd been too nervous, so I had the keys to the truck. He couldn't leave without me, at least not that way. After walking around the block, I went back to where we had parked to see if he was waiting for me there. But again, no trace of him. 

I couldn't stop myself from uttering a few choice curses as I unlocked the truck and climbed inside. His mother must have told him that she was dying. What else could have upset him this way? I knew this was going to devastate him. I knew it. 

I must have driven around for over an hour looking for Jim before I finally gave up and returned to the loft. He'd come home when he was ready. 

When I entered our home, I felt the chill air and saw the open balcony doors and couldn't help feeling a distinct sense of deja vu. Afraid of what I might find, I approached the open doors warily and I saw him, huddled in a corner of the balcony, arms wrapped around knees pulled to his chest. I thought we might have a repeat of the scene from three nights earlier as I crouched next to him. But his eyes acknowledged me, though he made no effort to speak. 

"Hey, man, what happened back there?" 

He didn't respond, but I knew him well enough not to push it. He'd tell me. He just needed to find the right words. I saw him shaking then, and I knew that this time it was from emotion and not the brisk fall breeze. So I sat, scooting as close to him as I could, and put my arm around his shoulder. 

"It's okay, Jim. Take your time, man. Wherever you're ready." 

He rubbed his face and I thought he might cry, but his eyes were dry. Several more minutes passed in silence before he took a deep, shuddering breath and finally spoke. 

"She's a sentinel, Chief." 

I couldn't believe my ears. Had he just said what I thought he had? "What?" 

"She's a sentinel." 

"She told you that?" 

"No. I... She didn't say anything. She just... I..." 

"Calm down, Jim. Take a deep breath and tell me what happened." 

He paused for a minute and collected his thoughts, then continued. 

"We were drinking tea and she spilled it in her lap. And she said it was burning her, so I went to get some ice and when I returned she was sitting there so still and I couldn't get her to respond." 

"She zoned on the pain." I said slowly. 

"I didn't realize what it was at first. I thought she was having a fit or something and I went to call for help. But then Ingrid came in and started talking to her and she just snapped out of it." 

"So Ingrid must be her guide." I postulated. 

"Yeah. I think so." 

"Do you think they realize?" 

"I don't know, Chief. I was so shocked when I figured out what was going on that I just had to get out of there." 

"Well, how much did she tell you?" 

"We didn't get a chance to talk about much before it happened." 

"Because Ingrid told me that the live in South America, Jim. She wouldn't tell me why they moved there, but there could be some connection between their decision to go there and your mother's sentinel abilities." 

"Yeah, maybe." Jim said wearily. 

"We need to figure out how much she knows about her abilities and how powerful they are. Whether she had them when you were growing up or if they developed after the move. This could -- " 

"Jesus Christ, Chief!" Jim exploded, and I started at the unexpected outburst. "This is my life, not some academic exercise! My mother is not going to be another chapter in your god damn dissertation! For once, could you just give me a fucking break!" 

Jim pushed himself to his feet and stormed into the loft. I sat there, stunned and speechless, for several minutes, trying to push down the hurt. I told myself that Jim was under incredible strain and I needed to remember that before I took anything too seriously. At the moment, it seemed small consolation. 

I, too, rose and stepped inside the loft. Jim was in the kitchen, leaning over the counter, head bowed. I didn't say anything until he looked up at me. 

"Do you really believe that I would take advantage of this situation for my thesis, Jim? Is that what you think of me?" 

He shook his head sadly. "No. I... I'm sorry, Chief. I didn't mean that. Really." 

"I would never profit from your pain to advance my career, Jim. Never." 

"I know. I -- " 

"Our friendship is more important than some god damn degree! Don't you get that?" I yelled. 

"I'm sorry." he breathed miserably. 

He wouldn't look at me and I fought back the anger that had blossomed from the hurt. He didn't mean it. I knew, in my heart, that he didn't mean it. I took a cleansing breath and pulled myself together then spoke more calmly. 

"I just thought that it might help us understand what happened. Why she left. And, Jim, there's more." 

He finally looked up at me. His eyes were so dull from the pain that I hated to tell him, hated to be the one to break even more bad news, to add the straw to the camel's back that just might be the one too many. But we had to get this all out into the open. Pull the band-aid off in one quick jerk. Feel the initial shock and, hopefully, move on. 

"Did your mom say anything to you about her health?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"Ingrid told me.... she told me that your mom is sick. Really sick. They don't know how much time she has left." 

"Oh, Jesus." Jim moaned as he dropped his head into his hands. 

"I don't know what she has, Jim. But you know how certain drugs don't affect you? If she's a sentinel, then she may not be getting the full effect of any medicine she's being given. The kind of questions I was asking might be important to know. It could make a difference in her treatment." 

"I knew it. I wouldn't or maybe couldn't admit it to myself. But I knew she wasn't well. I kept getting this feeling that something was wrong. She was so thin." 

Jim crossed woodenly to the dining table and sank down into a chair. I moved to sit across from him and when I did, I saw the glazed eyes, the vacant stare. He was going into a zone, shutting down. I swore under my breath, but I wasn't really surprised. My stoic sentinel never had been one who dealt well with highly charged emotional situations. And now he was being faced with one that would severely test even the most well-adjusted person. He'd tried running away physically, but that wasn't enough anymore. So, enter plan B, avoid dealing with it by shutting out the world. 

It wasn't really his fault that he couldn't deal with this. He was a product of his environment, after all. He had never been given the skills. Yet, for all that, he had endured more than his share of pain and tragedy. Far more than the average Joe could ever imagine in his wildest dreams. I often wondered just how he did it, how he had managed to escape being institutionalized this long. I'm not sure I would have been able to if I'd experienced half of what he had. Hell, my life had been a cake-walk by comparison and I'd already had enough therapy to help several shrinks purchase summer homes. So, I had no grounds to criticize Jim for wanting to escape this nightmare. I understood the desire to run away all too well. I was such an advocate of that coping mechanism that even after three years with Jim, I still kept the "I'm outta here" backpack well stocked and ready for use at a second's notice. Just in case. 

But I knew that this situation wasn't one you could run from. It was the kind that would follow you, no matter how far or how long you ran. Jim had to face this one, and I had to help him through it as best I could. Talk about the blind leading the blind. But we'd muddle through this because at the rate Jim was going, the only other alternative was an all-expense-paid trip to a lovely padded cell and daily shock therapy treatments. And I was not going to let that happen. Not on your life. 

I took Jim's hand in mine and rubbed it gently as I spoke in the most soothing tone I was capable of. "Come on, Jim. Come back. You can deal with this. I know you can. Come on back and I'll help you. We'll handle it together." 

It took a while to bring him out. It was as deep a zone as I had ever seen him in. But I didn't panic. I just kept up the chatter and the physical contact, coaxing and cajoling until his eyes slowly cleared and he turned to look at me with as miserable an expression as I had ever witnessed on the face of a human being. 

"I know this whole business really sucks, Jim. But you gotta keep your head, okay? You've got some tough decisions ahead of you." 

"Decisions?" he parroted absently. 

"Yeah, decisions. I know this all seems hopelessly twisted and complicated, but at the risk of oversimplifying, it seems to me that it can all be boiled down to one question." I waited for him to ask me what the question was, but he didn't, so I continued. "Are you going to forgive whoever is responsible for taking your mother from you and treasure the time you have left with her?" 

Jim looked at me blankly, like I was speaking Russian. 

"Look, Jim, we don't know why your mom left, whether she's responsible or someone else is at fault. We don't know why your father lied to you about your mother's death or why your mother didn't try to contact you during all this time. Those facts will be made known in time. What we do know is that your mother is gravely ill and that she may not have much time left. Whatever the answers to those questions are and however painful they might be, are you going to let the emotions they're stirring up keep you from making the most of the time you have left to spend with her? Because you told me yourself, Jim, that you two had an unbreakable bond. Maybe that was because of the Sentinel thing, maybe not. But the point is, you've been given a gift, of sorts. You've been given a second chance to be with the person you loved most in this world. And I know it's painful to find her after all this time and to discover the lies that kept you apart and to face the possibility of losing her all over again, but how much more painful will it be if you spend this time running away or zoning or raging about things you can't change instead of spending that time with her, cherishing her?" 

A sound that was not quite a sob escaped Jim and he rubbed at this face, leading me to think, once again, that he might have been crying. But when his hands dropped back to the table, his eyes were still dry. I think he was truly cried out. 

"I need some space, Chief. Some time alone. Please." he said pitifully. 

"Sure, Jim. I understand." I grabbed my coat from the hook and my backpack off the sofa. "I'm gonna go over to the University. I've got a lot of stuff I can do. I'll stay there all day. If you need me, call me on my cell phone. Okay?" 

"Yeah. Cell phone. Right." Jim repeated, but I had little confidence that much was sinking in. 

"And, Jim." I said as I opened the door. He looked up at me. "Stay alert, okay? You can handle this. You can." 

"Yeah, Chief. Thanks." 

And with that, I left. Wondering what I might find when I returned. 

oOo 

I heard the door shut and actually felt the heavy weight of the deafening silence that followed. Blair was right. I knew that he was right. I had to deal with this. I had to keep my head and make some tough decisions. But that pain in my chest was back. And it seemed to hurt more than ever. That god damn void was so overwhelming that I couldn't breathe, couldn't think clearly. And I didn't know how to make it stop, didn't think it was possible to make it stop. After all, how could the void ever be filled when everyone who had ever been important to me had left? Hell, some of them even managed to do it twice, just to twist the knife a little in case the damage hadn't been quite enough the first time around. Just to make extra sure they hit every one of those vital organs. 

With a curse, I rose on shaky legs that I wasn't altogether convinced would carry me, and made my way back to the balcony, hoping the cool air would help clear the fog in my head. That last thought hadn't been fair. There was very little in this world that I felt I could be sure of. But, deep in my heart, I knew with an unshakable conviction that my mother never would have left me if she'd had any other option. And Blair was right about one more thing. I had to push aside this fear and rage and make the most of whatever time we had left. I would still find out the answers. I had to know the answers to all those questions that were racing around in my head. And make no mistake about it, whoever was responsible for this -- be it my father or some other person -- would feel the full force of my wrath. But that could come later. And the void. That would most certainly continue to torment me as well. But none of those things were important at present. Now, the only thing that mattered was my mother. 

With a newfound strength, I walked back into the loft and called Simon. I told him, didn't ask, mind you, that I was taking all the vacation time I had coming to me and that my case files were up-to-date and on my desk for whomever he chose to reassign them to. There must have been something in my voice warning him that I was as serious as a heart attack, because he didn't even try to argue with me. Just told me to take care of myself and that he would see me when I came back. 

That accomplished, I scrawled a note to Blair, grabbed my coat and my car keys out of the basket by the door where Blair had deposited them, and left. I was going back to the hotel to see my mother. I was going to get some answers and I was going to spend every minute I could with her. 

V. 

Take my hand   
You know I'll be there   
If you can I'll cross the sky   
For your love   
For I have promised   
For to be with you tonight   
And for the time that will come 

Take my hand   
You know I'll be there   
If you can I'll cross The sky for your love And I understand   
These winds and tides   
This change of times  
Won't drag you away   
Hold on, hold on tightly   
Hold on and don't let go   
Of my love 

The storms will pass   
It won't be long now   
The storms will pass   
But my love lasts forever 

And take my hand   
You know I'll be there   
If you can I'll cross the sky  
For your love   
Give you what I hold dear   
Hold on, hold on tightly   
Hold on, hold on tightly   
Rise up, rise up with wings   
Like eagles you'll run, you'll run   
You'll run and not grow weary 

Take my hand, take my hand   
Hold on, hold on tightly   
Hold on, hold on tightly   
This love lasts forever   
This love lasts forever   
Take my hand  
Take my hand 

Drowning Man -- U" 

oOo 

Grace had been devastated when Jim rushed out so unexpectedly. I tried to console her, but was at a loss for words myself. Neither of us knew, for sure, what had spooked him so, but we both suspected it was Grace's trance. Although, why that would have been so upsetting, I'm not sure. From what I had gathered, it had lasted no more than a couple of minutes. That it may have been confusing, I could understand, but was it really so upsetting that he felt the need to tear out of here like his hair was on fire? 

And so Grace blamed herself because slipping into one of her trances was exactly what she had feared; they'd been so hard to control since she'd been taking the medicine. And she fretted that he might not come back and that she'd never have the opportunity to try to set things right between them. 

In a feeble attempt to take her mind off of things, I took her on the walk we'd planned before Jim's arrival. But as we strolled the tidy streets of Cascade, I knew that when she was looking around, she wasn't admiring the architecture or the items in the shop windows; she was searching for Jim. 

We'd just finished lunch, or rather, pushing food around on our plates, when there was a knock on the door. I thought it was the bellhop coming to retrieve our lunch service, so I was shocked to open the door and see Jim standing there. 

"Jim." 

"Can I come in, Ingrid?" 

"Yes, please." 

I stepped aside to let him in and I saw his eyes light up the second he spotted Grace on the sofa. And I turned and saw the sheer joy on her face when she realized her boy had come back to her. Jim rushed to Grace's side and kissed her on the cheek. 

"I'm so sorry, Mom. Sorry for running out the way I did." Jim breathed. 

"I thought I'd lost you." Grace said brokenly. 

Jim reached up and wiped his mother's tears away. "Never. I'm not going anywhere." 

Grace wrapped her frail arms around her son's neck. "Oh, Jamie, I do love you. I always loved you. I know that must be hard to believe, but it's true." 

Jim pulled away and smoothed back Grace's hair. "Tell me, Mom. Tell me what happened. Please. I need to know." 

"Yes. Of course you do." Grace said softly and she settled back into the sofa and took Jim's hand in hers, holding onto it for support. 

I moved to sit quietly on Grace's other side to offer what little support I could. I knew this would be very hard for her. 

"I grew up on the wrong side of the tracks, in Southtown." Grace began. 

Jim's eyes widened in obvious surprise. 

"Ingrid and I had the taxi drive through the old neighborhood when we arrived. It's definitely much different than it was then. Rather frightening now, if you ask me." 

Jim's mouth quirked up at the corner in the hint of a smile. 

"Back then, it was just honest, hard-working people who didn't have a lot of money. But we did have a sense of community. People really looked out for each other. It was nice. I don't have any complaints about my childhood. We didn't have much, but I never doubted that my parents loved me. They were good people, your grandparents." 

Grace's pale blue eyes grew sad as she continued. 

"They were killed when I was sixteen. Coming back from visiting my aunt one weekend, the rickety old Ford my father drove broke down on a mountain pass, miles from anywhere. They must have known that they were too far away to try to walk to the nearest phone, so they stayed in the car. But there wasn't much traffic on the pass at that time of year and the temperature in the mountains dropped dangerously low at night. By the time they were found and help was summoned, it was too late. They'd died of exposure." 

"I'm sorry, Mom." Jim murmured. 

Grace rubbed his hand in a small gesture of appreciation and continued on. 

"I was all alone then. Sent to live with my aunt and her uncle. There was a small insurance settlement. My aunt recommended that I use the money to go to secretarial school so I could get a decent job, but I wanted to go to college. I'd been a good student and I was curious. I knew I didn't want to spend the rest of my life cooped up in some stuffy old office taking dictation. But no one in my family had ever gone to college before. It was a foreign concept. And for most women back then, college was where you went to find a husband, not to get an education, anyway. Everyone tried to talk me out of it, but I wouldn't be discouraged. 

"I enrolled in Cascade College that fall. The little insurance settlement wasn't even enough to cover tuition, let alone living expenses and books. So I got financial aid and a workstudy job as a waitress at the Delta Gamma Pi fraternity dining hall." 

Jim's eyes lit up with recognition. "That was Dad's fraternity." 

"Yes. It certainly was." Grace confirmed. "Your father was a senior then. He was the big man at the fraternity and on campus. He was the Delta Gamma Pi president, Student Body President, captain of the football team, and an honor student. He never did anything by halves, that was for sure. He was everywhere. You couldn't miss William Ellison. 

"I had classes all day, and I loved every minute of it. I had lofty dreams of becoming a nurse. I wanted to help people and I also desperately wanted to travel to exotic places, to see the world beyond Cascade. I even briefly entertained the idea of becoming a missionary so that I could do both, but those seemed impossible dreams at the time. In any event, they were not to be. 

"In the evening, I worked the dinner shift at the fraternity. All those rich kids didn't take the first notice of me, but for some reason, Bill did. To this day, I'll never know why, but he asked me out. 

"Are you kidding?" Jim interjected. "You were beautiful. You still are. How could he not want to go out with you?" 

True amusement sparkled in Grace's eyes and she dropped a kiss on Jim's hand that she still held. 

"My son, the charmer." 

"I just call 'em like I see 'em." Jim returned with a grin. 

"Well, cut it out, you're embarrassing me." Grace teased. "So, your father asked me out. I was so infatuated with him. He was handsome and self-confident and smart, too. We could talk and talk and talk. I just couldn't believe someone like him would be interested in anything I had to say, but he really seemed to be. I think that was what I liked best, that he really seemed to listen to me. Pretty soon, we were dating regularly. 

"There were more than a few socialites on campus that were were miffed that I was dating Bill Ellison. He was quite the catch and I was a nobody, after all. And sometimes when I walked across campus, I could hear the whispers. Hear people wondering what he saw in me, why he would date someone so clearly beneath him, wondering whether Bill was just having one last hurrah before going out into the real world and settling down with one of his own kind. 

"Despite the snickering, we kept on dating, and one month before Bill's graduation, he asked me to marry him. I was so utterly shocked, that I accused him of playing a trick on me. But he just smiled and produced a diamond ring. 

"I accepted. I've often wondered since I left Cascade whether I was every truly in love with him. I knew it's a terrible thing to say, but I don't think I was. I think I loved the idea of being in love with him, and of being loved by someone as important as he was, but I don't think I ever truly loved him. In any event, I accepted and that weekend he took me home to meet your grandparents. To say that they were shocked was an understatement, to say the least. A dowdy young girl from Southtown was definitely not the bride that Charles and Patricia Ellison had in mind for their perfect son. They were sure that I was only after his money. They never said as much to me, but they thought it, that was clear. But I didn't want his money." 

"Of course you didn't." Jim interrupted indignantly, and I could see the color rising in his cheeks. 

"It was a tense weekend. Your Aunt Jeanine was just a year younger than me, but I was absolutely invisible to her. She wanted nothing to do with me. Your Uncle Randolph was away at boarding school, so he wasn't around, not that he would have been any more welcoming than the rest. Your father and grandparents spent the weekend in one closed-door meeting after another while I was left to wander around the grounds of your grandparents' impressive home by myself. I don't know what Bill said to them, but by the time the weekend was over, they had grudgingly accepted the fact that we would be married. And they set the plans in motion for a grand wedding in the Ellison family tradition." 

Grace paused and seemed to choke up a bit. 

"What is it, Mom?" 

Another minute passed as Grace pulled herself together and I saw her fighting back the tears before she finally spoke. 

"I often think that all the pain and heartache of the last 40 years could have been avoided if I had only refused Bill's proposal. If I had been able to get past the glitz and glamour of becoming an Ellison and realize what I felt -- or rather didn't feel -- in my heart. I know I said that I don't think I ever loved your father, but I think he must have loved me. He stood up to his family to marry me. That was no small feat. And I betrayed that love. And I think that I was punished because of that. That the last thirty years has been a punishment for my selfishness." 

Jim was shaking his head vehemently. "No! You were young and impressionable. You didn't realize. You didn't consciously set out to marry Dad for his social standing. You just made a bad decision, that's all. We all do that." 

"A very bad decision. But I don't regret it. I can't ever regret it, because it gave me you. And you were always such a joy to me. You still are. I just wish I hadn't hurt so many people along the way, including you." 

Jim kissed her hand and then looked up at her, his own eyes a bit glassy now. 

"Please go on. Tell me the rest." 

"The wedding was scheduled for one month after Bill's graduation. Those two months were exhausting and confusing. I had no say in any of the plans since I had no money to contribute to the costs and not even the faintest idea of what took place at a society wedding, anyway. I was taken here and there and back and forth for dress fittings and photo shoots and meetings with caterers and wedding consultants. But at all of these different events, I was ignored while everyone else planned my big day. 

"Your grandmother insisted that I wear her wedding gown. It was an elaborate gown with yards and yards of tulle and lace and beading and a long train. Not my style at all, but I was afraid to refuse -- after all, I never could have afforded to buy an appropriate gown. And she took me to her dressmaker to buy me a new, "more suitable" wardrobe but they just picked out things for me without asking me what I might like to wear. They were trying to mold me into an Ellison. But I didn't want to be molded. I never thought there was anything wrong with the way I was. But I was so desperate for her acceptance that I agreed to anything she asked of me. 

"As the months passed, I knew, deep down, that I was making a mistake. I knew that I was never going to fit in there. I told myself that I should call the whole thing off, but I didn't listen to my instincts. I didn't know how to back out at that point and I didn't have anyone to talk to about it. So the wedding went on as planned. 

"The arrangements may have been hastily made, but the event was impressive all the same. The ceremony was at the First Presbyterian Church in front of 500 guests -- only a tiny handful of which were mine. The reception was held at the Bayview Country Club, and I was thoroughly overwhelmed. The entire day was a blur. I didn't know most of the people there; they were mostly your father's family and their high-profile friends. Since I didn't have much family around, I had very few people to invite. And most of my invitees were so overwhelmed by the Ellisons' status that they were reluctant to come to the wedding because they were afraid they wouldn't fit in. And they were right, for the most part. Oh, no one was rude to them, but no one went out of their way to make them feel comfortable, either. 

"We spent our wedding night in the bridal suite at the Palace Hotel, but after that we went to your grandparents' country home near the Canadian border for our honeymoon. I had hoped that we would go someplace exotic, special, like Europe, or Mexico, or the Caribbean, but it was tradition to spend every summer there, and this was no exception. Your father had accepted a job at a brokerage in Cascade, but the job didn't start until the fall, so we had the entire summer and we spent it all there. 

"Don't get me wrong, the place was beautiful, it just wasn't what I had in mind for our honeymoon. The rest of the family was there, too, so it was hard for Bill and I to find time to be alone. And it was so secluded, there was no place to go, very little to do. But it was an Ellison tradition, and I was an Ellison now, so I endured it with a smile on my face. 

"When we returned to Cascade in September, we moved into the house your grandparents had given us as a wedding present; the house you grew up in. Bill started work at the brokerage, and I was left to set up the house. That part was fun at first because we'd gotten so many beautiful things as gifts. And the house was so big. There was so much to do. But after that was done, I didn't know what to do with myself. I asked Bill if I could go back to college. I really wanted to. I missed the stimulation of the classroom and being around so many interesting people. And I hadn't given up my dream of becoming a nurse at that point. But Bill said I didn't need to go back. What was the point? After all, no wife of his was ever going to work, and if I were in school, who would take care of the house and the children that we would have? 

"Bill recommended that I join one of the ladies' groups at the country club and get involved with the other wives. I tried to, but I never fit in there, either. They ignored me and made snide comments about my background and my clothes. They didn't think I could hear them doing it, but I did. I knew what they thought of me. They thought I was dead common. They let me join their group because my last name was Ellison, and your grandfather was very influential, after all. But they never really gave me a chance. After a while, I stopped going. 

"Your father was already working very hard by this time. Sixteen hour days were the norm and he traveled frequently on business. As a result, I was often alone, rambling around in that big house listening to the echoes. I was terribly lonely. I had no real friends, to speak of. No one to talk to. I tried to fill my days with various hobbies, but it was hollow. I was miserable. 

"Then, about eight months after our wedding, I discovered that I was pregnant. I was thrilled and so was Bill. I had hoped that with a baby on the way, Bill might cut back on his time at work, but that was wishful thinking on my part. If anything, he worked that much more because now he was going to have a baby to support as well as a wife. I was still lonely, but at least I had something to look forward to. I started planning for the baby's arrival, for your arrival." 

Grace caressed Jim's cheek fondly, and he leaned into it, his hand covering hers, a slight smile lifting one corner of his mouth. 

"The early months of the pregnancy were hard. I was sick a lot. Some days I couldn't even get out of bed. I couldn't eat. Everything tasted awful and made me nauseous. Smells were intolerable. I got awful migraines and the light hurt my eyes, so I would lay in bed with all the blinds pulled to keep out the sunlight. They were terribly worried about me, thought they might have to hospitalize me if they couldn't get me to keep down any food. Bill's mother or sister would come and sit with me sometimes and it was one of the few times that I felt that they were genuinely concerned about me. 

"Things slowly got better, and by the fifth month I was mostly okay. It was fall then and I used to love to sit out on the back porch and watch the changing of the leaves and the migrating birds. That was when I first noticed that something strange was going on, something odd was happening to my senses." 

At this, Jim sat up very straight, listening with an intensity I found curious. I studied him closely as he listened to his mother. 

"I would sit in the old bench swing on the porch and sing to you. And after a while, I realized that I could hear your heartbeat as clearly as if it were a pounding drum beside me. I thought it was just my imagination at first, but then I realized that if I concentrated, I could hear you moving inside me. I'd always had good hearing -- I could hear people whispering across the room and every creak and groan of that old house -- but this was something different and it frightened me a bit. And other things were happening, too. Suddenly I could see at a distance so clearly, and my skin became really sensitive. A lot of fabrics hurt to wear, and so I started wearing the softest cotton and silk I could find. I had no idea what was going on. I wanted to tell Bill, but it sounded too crazy. What would he think of me? So I pushed it down and didn't say anything to anyone. 

"Despite all that, though, the last months of my pregnancy were happy. I was so looking forward to your arrival. From the very first moment I discovered I was pregnant, even through the months of terrible sickness, I felt such an intense bond with you. That's what kept me going on all those days that I could barely lift my head from the pillow. I can't describe it really, except to say that it was very special. And it carried over after you were born. Don't misunderstand, I love Stephen, he's my son, too, and there's no way I could not love him, but it was always different with you and me. We always had something magical, didn't we, Jamie?" 

A tear trickled down Jim's cheek as he nodded. "Yeah, Mom, we did. We still do." he said softly. 

"I remember the night you were born as if it was yesterday. We'd just had a big snowstorm and it was really cold out on the evening that I went into labor. Your father was so nervous, but he got us to the hospital in one piece and I was admitted and sent off to the maternity ward. 

"In those day, men didn't come into the delivery room and they anesthetized women when they gave birth. It was all supposed to be so simple. You go to the hospital, they put you to sleep, and you wake up with a cute little pink or blue bundle beside you. But it wasn't that way for me. The labor pains were terrible. I'd never felt anything like it. It felt like I was being ripped apart. I didn't think I was going to survive the pain. And they kept giving me anesthesia, but it didn't work; I never went under. 

"After a while, they were afraid to give me any more for fear of harming you, so I was awake for the delivery. It was chaos. There were so many people in there and it ws so loud and so bright, and the smell of alcohol and anesthesia made me sick; I couldn't stop throwing up. The coarse hospital gown hurt my skin. It was so terrifying that I couldn't stop crying, couldn't answer them when they spoke to me. They wanted to perform a caesarian, but they'd already given me so much anesthesia, they didn't want to try to give me a local, so they couldn't do that either. They couldn't figure out what was happening, didn't know what to do with me. 

"The only thing that kept me sane was knowing that I would see you soon. I knew I had to hang on to finally see you and hold you. And when you were finally born, and I held you in my arms, I knew that it was worth every second of torment that I had endured. Because you were there, and you were perfect and beautiful and healthy, and I couldn't put into words how much I loved you." Grace said with a beautific smile directed solely at Jim. 

"We brought you home a couple of days later, and the family was thrilled. I'd done good for once. I'd produced a male heir to the Ellison 'dynasty,' so I was in favor for a short while. Bill wanted to hire a nanny, but I wouldn't hear of it. I wanted to take care of you myself. But my senses hadn't stopped acting up. If anything, they were worse after you were born. I thought I was losing my mind. Everything was too intense. My sight, hearing, smell, everything was out of proportion. And I was so tired. You didn't sleep through the night in the first months. You were fussy; every little noise seemed to upset you and you cried a lot and your cries seemed so loud to me. I didn't know how to calm you. I thought I was doing something wrong. I was worried that you were sick. I cried constantly. Bill was frustrated with me. He couldn't understand why I couldn't do something as simple as care for a baby and why the house was always in disarray when he'd come home from work looking for his dinner. It was awful. 

"After a while, I started losing track of time. I'd be sitting in a chair and all of a sudden I'd realize you were crying and when I'd get up to check on you, I'd realize that you'd been crying for a long time, but I hadn't even heard you. I got really scared when that happened. Anything could have happened to you with me fading in and out like that. I never could have lived with myself if something had happened to you, so I finally told Bill what was going on. 

"He sent me to a psychiatrist. They diagnosed me with post-partum depression, but I wasn't depressed; I knew something was physically wrong with me. But they couldn't find anything, said it was psychosomatic. They gave me drugs. Sometimes they worked and they just left me feeling numb and sort of out of sync, but at least my senses weren't bothering me then. Other times they didn't work at all. But things seemed a bit more manageable then, more in control than out of control. And I was at least able to look after you properly, which was all that really mattered to me." 

Jim had bowed his head as Grace recounted her tale. When she paused, he looked up at her, tears streaming down his cheeks. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry you had to go through that." 

"Oh, Sweetheart, it's not your fault. Not your fault." she said as she hugged him. "And things got better after that. For a while, at least. The next two years with you were such bliss for me. It was just you and me at home all day and I cherished every single moment with you. You were my pride and joy, and the pride of your father and the entire Ellison family. You were the first male heir, and you were so strong and healthy, and curious. Your grandparents doted on you. Your father couldn't stop bragging about his boy to anyone who would listen." 

Jim snorted at that. It was clearly a sound of disgust. He looked up at his mother sheepishly and his cheeks colored slightly. "I'm sorry. Please, go on. he said, not bothering to explain his reaction. 

"When you were two, your father decided it was time for us to have another baby. As much as I loved you, I didn't want to have another. I didn't think I could go through that again. I couldn't make your father understand how traumatic it had been for me. We had terrible fights about it. Your grandparents called me selfish and said it ws my job to have more children, to make Bill happy. Ultimately, I relented and agreed to have another. But I was scared of what would happen, and with good cause, it turned out. 

"When I became pregnant, they took me off the medication I'd been given when I was diagnosed with the depression. My senses raged out of control and as a result I was sicker than I had been when I carried you. I was often disoriented and I'd slip in and out of consciousness. They finally hospitalized me because I became dangerously underweight from being unable to eat. Ultimately, I miscarried. 

"As I lay in the hospital bed, I could hear your father and your grandparents talking in the hall. I heard your grandfather tell your father that this whole thing had just proven what they had known all along, that I was unsuited to being an Ellison. First I was mentally unstable, and now I was defective; I couldn't even produce another healthy baby. They told him that he never should have married me. 

"I was determined, then, to prove them wrong. To prove that I could do it; that I wasn't defective. Although, deep down, I was beginning to wonder if they weren't right. I became pregnant again six months later and I battled against the sickness again. But this time I carried the baby to term, perhaps by sheer will alone, because I was unwell the entire time. I couldn't even care for you during that time. You were sent to live with your grandparents and your father hired a nurse to look after me. 

"The delivery was worse this time. Perhaps because I knew what to expect and I went into it absolutely terrified. I was already crying when we arrived at the hospital. Bill didn't know what to do with me. I think he was pretty much at the end of his rope. By the time they took me to the delivery room, I was hysterical. They had to strap me down. They were afraid I was going to hurt myself, but I was already hurting. I couldn't imagine anything worse than what I was experiencing, and I couldn't make them understand what was going on. I tried to talk, but I couldn't get the words out. I couldn't stop myself from screaming from the intensity of the pain. And the sound of my own voice hurt my ears. 

"Eventually, they tell me that I simply shut down, went catatonic. They couldn't get any response from me at all. They delivered Stephen by caesarian section, but couldn't bring me around. Finally, they didn't know what to do anymore. They let your father take Stephen home and moved me to the psychiatric wing because as far as anyone could tell, nothing was physically wrong with me." 

Jim stood abruptly then, and raked his hand through his short brown hair. "Jesus, Mom, I can't bear this. I can't stand the thought of you locked up like that." he moaned, his arms wrapped tightly around his chest. "I wish I'd known. I wish there was something I could have done. I know that's foolish because I was just a baby, but --" 

Grace stood then and laid a hand on Jim's back to calm him. He turned and pulled her into his arms. "I can't bear it. I can't beat to think about it. How could Dad have done that to you?" he said miserably. 

"He didn't know, Jamie. Nobody knew what to do." she said softly. 

"God, it didn't have to be that way. I wish there was something I could do. Something to change that. To make it so that you wouldn't have had to suffer the way you did." he breathed. 

"I know." Grace replied simply. She turned to me then. "Perhaps we should take a short break. Ingrid, would you order us some tea?" 

"Of course." I said and I excused myself to the bedroom to give Jim and Grace a bit of privacy while ordered the tea and some pastries. 

The tea arrived promptly and we sat, politely sipping tea and eating little cookies. There wasn't much conversation. Jim drank his tea mechanically, staring abjectly into his cup. I felt for him. I knew this was hard for Grace to tell, but she had come to an uneasy peace with her situation long ago. I couldn't imagine what it must be like for Jim to hear it, to hear of his mother's incredible suffering, especially knowing the bond that they shared. And unfortunately for him, I knew the story would get worse before it got better. I wondered if it wouldn't be a good idea to call his partner and ask him to come over. I though he might benefit from the support of a friend as close as Mr. Sandburg appeared to be. 

"Jim." I said softly, leaning forward. He looked up at me and I started a bit. He had his mother's eyes and they reflected the pain so clearly, the same anguish I had witnessed in Grace's eyes daily for almost 30 years. It was unnerving, but I cleared my throat and found my tongue. "I know how hard this must be for you. Do you think it might help to call your friend, that nice Mr. Sandburg? I think it might help you to have someone here." 

His first instinct was to say no, I could tell that. But he paused for a moment and appeared to ponder the suggestion, then spoke slowly. "Yeah, I think I'd like that." he said and he seemed surprised by his own agreement. 

"Would you like me to call him for you while you and Grace finish your tea?" 

"Ahm, yeah. Thanks." 

He pulled a small notepad out of his pocket, scribbled a number on one sheet and handed it to me. "You can reach him here." 

I took the number and once again retreated to the bedroom to make the call. 

oOo 

I was shocked as all get out to get the call from Ingrid asking me to come over to the hotel right away. I asked her what was going on and she told me that she couldn't go into it in detail, but that Jim was there and that he needed my support. That was all I needed to hear. The hotel wasn't far from the university; I told her I'd be there in fifteen minutes. 

I broke every speed record in the city getting to the Regency Hotel. Luckily, I wasn't stopped. Although since I was pretty well known in the precinct, I was pretty sure I would have been able to talk my way out of it by flashing my observer credentials. Fortunately, I didn't have to test that theory. 

When Ingrid let me into the hotel suite, I immediately spotted Jim and his mother sitting on the sofa. Jim looked like hell. I didn't know what had been said, but he was going through an emotional wringer, that much was clear. 

I dropped my pack by the door and moved to sit in an armchair next to Jim. 

"Thanks for coming, Chief." he said softly, glancing at me with a little half smile of gratitude. 

"Of course, man." I murmured, giving him a pat on the shoulder. 

Ingrid offered me some tea, but I declined, and she sat next to Grace. I wished desperately, then, that I could have been there for the beginning of whatever it was that had been going on here. But I figured that either I'd be able to catch up or Jim would fill me in later. 

Grace drained her cup of tea and set it daintily back on the table in front of her. Then she took Jim's hand in hers, rubbed it a couple of times, and began to speak. 

"They told me later that I was in the psychiatric wing for over a week before I made the slightest response to anyone or anything. I don't have any recollection of it at all. I wasn't feeling or seeing or hearing anything. The first thing I remember is hearing a voice. A really soft, soothing voice. At first I couldn't make out the words, just the tone. And I couldn't see or smell or feel anything at all. I just heard the sound." 

Holy mother of god. Was she talking about a zone that lasted more than a week? I didn't think that was possible, but that was clearly what she was describing. My fingers were veritably itching with the desire to take notes and document what she was saying. But I would have sooner cut off my hand. I would never violate Jim's trust that way. 

"The voice continued and finally my other senses started to come back one by one. When my sight finally came back to me, I saw Ingrid sitting next to my bed." 

Ingrid smiled faintly at that and laid a hand on grace's arm. 

"Ingrid was a volunteer at the hospital. She'd visit with patients and spend time with them, bring them things they needed." 

"I didn't usually spend time in the psychiatric ward." Ingrid interjected. "Most of the patients there were heavily medicated and unresponsive. Some were even dangerous. But I'd been volunteering in the maternity ward on he day Grace delivered Stephen. I remember hearing her screams; they were so tortured. They haunted me for days afterward. And all the doctors and nurses were talking about her. No one could figure out what could have cause her to react the way she did. When I learned that she had been sent to the psychiatric wing, I don't know why, but I had to see her. I was drawn there. 

"They told me that it was pointless to try to talk to her, she was completely catatonic. She wouldn't even know I was there. But she was so alone. No one came to visit her that I could see. It just seemed wrong. So I begged to be allowed to sit and talk to her. They thought I was in need of some therapy when I asked that, but there was no harm in it, so they agreed. 

"For a week, I spent two or three hours in her room every day just talking to her, or reading, or playing music and gently touching her hand or her face. Trying to get through to her however I could. By the third day, she would make little sounds or move her hand as though she was searching for something. I'd hold her hand or talk to her some more, but it was clear that she wasn't hearing me or feeling my hand on hers. But little by little, she grew more responsive. It wasn't until the sixth day that she finally opened her eyes and looked at me." 

"Ingrid's voice cut through the darkness like a laser beam." Grace said, looking over at Ingrid affectionately. "When I opened my eyes and saw her, it was like everything was under control. My senses were under control for the first time in as long as I could remember. They were actually back to tolerable levels. 

"The doctors were amazed by my sudden recovery and the fact that I seemed perfectly fine after a prolonged catatonic state. They couldn't believe that I was actually better. I couldn't blame them for that, it was pretty hard for me to believe as well. And when I tried to explain what had been happening to me, the story was so incredible, that they were sure that I was totally insane. After all, no sane person could come up with a tale like that. So they kept me for another two weeks, running test after test after test and engaging in endless and exhausting counseling sessions. 

"Your father rarely came to see me. And when he did, the visits were strained and awkward. I don't think he could face the fact that I had been committed, and his family was starting to convince him that maybe he had made a mistake by marrying me, after all. So he chose not to deal with the whole mess by burying himself in the office and only stopping by once or twice on the weekend. And even though I had never even seen Stephen, he refused to bring you boys to see me, said it wasn't a fit place for children. 

"But Ingrid continued to visit. Every single day she stopped by, even if it was only for a few minutes. We became fast friends. I felt close to her from the very start, and I was so grateful for her company. If it hadn't been for her, I would have had no one at all. 

"By the time the two weeks and the endless round of tests and evaluations was up, the doctors could find no reason to keep me any longer. I was coherent and able to take care of myself. I wasn't a danger to myself or anyone else. So I was released, but they put me back on the drugs I had been taking before I became pregnant with Stephen. Just to be safe. 

"I returned home. You boys were still with your grandparents. Bill was worried about leaving you alone with me. It took me another week to convince him that I was really okay and that I could care for you both. I missed you terribly. I was sure that once I had you back, everything would be better, back to normal, whatever that was. 

"But things never did get back to normal. The relationship between Bill and I was never really the same from that point on. He started working even longer hours than before, though that hardly seemed possible. And he volunteered for every business trip that came up, no matter how long or how far away it was. As a result, he sky-rocketed to the top at the brokerage, quickly becoming an assistant vice president. 

"He was never home after that. I might see him at the breakfast table once in a while, but he always came home late at night, long after I'd gone to bed, when he came home at all. He even worked on the weekends. And I'm pretty sure he began having affairs at that point. He never said as much, but there were tell-tale signs that couldn't be ignored. 

"Truth be told, I found it hard to be all that upset about the deterioration of our marriage. Your father and I only argued when he was home, anyway. It was much more peaceful when he was gone. I had you boys. You were all that was important to me. And I had my newfound friendship with Ingrid. I didn't need much more than that. It was an odd sort of contentment." 

"Your mother and I were orphans who just sort of bonded with each other. We had a lot in common to bring us together." Ingrid said to Jim. "I was only "5 at the time, just a year older than Grace. I was on my own and didn't really have any close friends either. I'd been raised in Vancouver, British Columbia. When I was 19, I followed my then boyfriend to Cascade. The relationship didn't last that long after my arrival, but after the break-up, I decided that I liked Cascade and wanted to hang around. 

"I didn't really have any skills, but I found a job as a cocktail waitress in a bar downtown. It could be kind of rough there, but mostly the clients were just average joes looking to escape life for a couple of hours. I actually liked the job. It paid the bills and the people were interesting if you took the time to get to know them. And working at night left me time to do the things I really wanted to do during the day, like my volunteer work at the hospital. 

"I took a few college courses when there was enough money. I was really interested in sociology, and thought I might get a degree in it one day, but other events came along and put that plan by the wayside." 

Grace smiled and touched Ingrid's hand affectionately. And I wondered as I watched whether Jim had learned of the nature of his mother's relationship with Ingrid. There was no way of knowing for sure. The two women were obviously very close. They seemed to take every opportunity to show affection or provide comfort. But if Jim found anything odd about that, he showed no sign of it. He might just think that they were touchy-feely types. After all, he sure was. Nothing unusual there. 

I also caught myself wondering, as I had so frequently over the last twenty-four hours, what Jim's reaction would be to discovering that his mother was a lesbian. Jim was an open-minded guy to be sure, but thinking that kind of relationship was okay for others and thinking it was okay for your mother, were two entirely different things. For many supposedly open-minded people, homosexuality was just fine and dandy until it hit a little too close to home. I had no idea whether Jim was that way, but I was interested in finding out the answer for a number of reasons, none of which, I'd admit if I were honest, were related to my dissertation. I filed those thoughts away, figuring I'd have the answer soon enough, and tuned back in to hear Grace continue the tale. 

"Ingrid's job also gave her time to visit with me during the day after I returned home. Barely a day passed that we didn't see each other or speak to each other. She was my savior; the first real friend I'd had since I met your father. The loneliness was gone for the first time in years. We'd have lunch together, go shopping, and sometimes just talk. We did everything and nothing at all together. When your father went on his extended business trips, she'd even come stay at the house sometimes." 

"I was so impressed with that big house and all those fancy furnishings." Ingrid said with a grin. 

"Those couple of years were actually pretty good. My senses were rarely out of control then. I stopped taking the medicine the doctors had given me so that numb feeling went away. I spent my time with you boys. I was really quite happy." 

I looked up to see Jim staring intently at Ingrid. She must have felt his eyes on her because she met his gaze, holding it firmly. Suddenly, he shook his head sharply and his mouth dropped open a bit. 

"I remember you." he said to her slowly. "I didn't remember before, but now I do. You had long, red hair, and you used to read to Stephen and me in the swing on the back porch." 

Ingrid nodded, confirming the statement, and her brown eyes twinkled. She was clearly pleased that Jim had some recollection of the time they had spent together. 

"Eventually, you boys went off to school and I had the days to myself. It was during this time that Ingrid and I started trying to figure out what had happened to my senses. As I said, for the most part, my senses were in control during this time. But every now and again, I'd have a flare up. Usually it would result in a terrible migraine, but would eventually go away if I got some rest and quiet. But I was still curious about this. It seemed so odd. I wanted to find out if anyone else had ever experienced it or if there was a way to make it stop. 

"Ingrid was still taking the odd class at Ranier University, so she had access to the research library. We'd spend mornings there, scouring the stacks, looking for anything having to do with sensory perception." 

At this point I felt like leaping out of my chair. I practically had to sit on my hands to keep myself from jumping up and running to my backpack to grab my tape recorder and taping this for posterity. My god. They'd done research in the same stacks that I now haunted. We'd probably even used the same sources. This was unbelievable. I tuned in carefully; I didn't want to miss a word. 

"We found some studies on people who had heightened senses, but generally the subjects had only one or two. We never could find anything on people who had all five, the way I did. But it was useful, all the same. 

"We figured out that my migraines were caused by sensory overload and from that point on, when I felt one coming on, I was generally able to stop it in its tracks by spending a half an hour or so in a very dark, very quiet room; allowing my senses to kind of retreat and calm down from whatever was overloading them. And from that we gathered that relaxation could be useful. Ingrid got a bunch of books on mediation and I even tried yoga, which was pretty radical in those days. But it was fun, and it really did help. We used to put on these awful leotards and do yoga on the back porch during the day while you boys were in school I loved being able to relax out in the yard, with the sun and the breeze on my face and the smell of all the flowers in the garden, spending time with Ingrid. It was wonderful. 

"I don't know when, exactly, our friendship turned into something more. I didn't even realize it was happening until it hit me like a brick wall." 

Ingrid sat forward then and took Grace's hand in hers. "One day, Ingrid was at the house. We had spent the morning baking cookies for you boys and in the afternoon, we went out onto the back porch to do our yoga, like we did almost every day. We were dressed in those goofy leotards and giggling about something or another. And at some point I looked at her and I thought that she had been my savior, and my best friend, and my confidante, and I realized that I couldn't imagine a day without her. And it just hit me that I loved her. That I was in love with her like I had never been with your father. And I leaned forward and kissed her." 

I glanced nervously at Jim, but it was as if his face was carved in stone. It was absolutely unreadable. There was no way of telling if he had been shocked by the revelation. Then I looked up and saw Ingrid staring at me. It was the same intense gaze she had given me the day before in the restaurant, and I felt my heartrate spike when I realized what she must be thinking. Simultaneously, both Grace and Jim turned to look at me. They must have heard my heartbeat go off the charts. My cheeks flushed crimson and I mumbled a quick apology. And as Jim turned back to his mother, I gathered that no one had told him yet, because Grace was clearly a bit nervous as she continued her story. 

"While we were kissing, your father came home unexpectedly. His boss had asked him to entertain some important clients that evening and he had come home to ask me to make them dinner. When he saw us, he went white as a sheet and this look of rage came over him. I'd never seen him so furious. I hustled Ingrid out of there as fast as I could. There was no need to expose her to your father's temper." 

"I didn't want to go. The veins were bulging in his forehead and he was yelling and screaming at your mother. I was afraid he might hit her." 

"But I insisted. I made her go and told her I'd call her as soon as I could. And when she had gone, your father and I had the worst fight of our marriage. He called me terrible, unspeakable names, said I was coarse and vulgar and perverted and that he didn't want me in his house or around his children ever again. He was cruel and hurtful and vicious. He went up to our room and started hauling all my things out of the closets and the dressers and throwing them on the floor. He said he was going to divorce me and that I wouldn't get a penny of his money and he would see to it that I never saw you boys again. 

"Of course, I didn't care anything about the money. But when he mentioned you boys, I got really scared. I knew he had the power and the money to carry out his threat. And I knew that it would kill me if I could never see you two again. I started crying and begging and pleading with him, told him I'd do anything he wanted. Of course, I could no sooner leave Ingrid than I could you or your brother, but I thought if I could just calm him down. Stall for time so that I could make a plan, figure out something, anything, to allow Ingrid and I to not be separated but allow me to keep you boys, too. 

"After a while, he calmed down a bit. He told me that he wanted me out of the house immediately and that I had to stop seeing Ingrid and go back into therapy so I could be 'cured.' And that if I did those things, he'd allow me limited visitation with you boys. And that he'd tell everyone simply that it didn't work and we were getting a divorce. Ultimately, he didn't want anyone to know what had happened, either. It was a terrible blow to his ego and he would have been far too embarrassed to admit to anyone that his wife was a lesbian. 

"I agreed to your father's demands. At the first opportunity, I called Ingrid and explained everything that had happened and told her that we had to cool it for a while, just long enough for me to come up with a plan that would allow us all to be together. And that I would be in touch as soon as I could." 

"That weekend, your father came to see me." Ingrid said. "He offered me $"50,000 to move away immediately and never see Grace again. It was more money than I had ever thought I would see in my lifetime. I couldn't even fathom that amount. On the one hand, I didn't want Bill's filthy money, but I also knew that if Grace and Bill got divorced, she was going to need a good lawyer, and neither of us could afford that. I took the check but, of course, I had no intention of actually leaving Cascade. That action turned out to be a mixed blessing. 

"Luckily, I was smart enough to quickly deposit the money in an untraceable Cayman Islands account. One of the regulars at the bar where I waitressed was fairly well known for doing some 'private banking' for some of the local wise guys. I gave him 10% to set up the account. It was pretty good money for what amounted to a few hours' work on his part. 

"Unluckily, the next week, the police turned up at my door. Your father had been keeping tabs on me, and when I didn't immediately leave town, he accused me of stealing the money from his house while visiting Grace. Or maybe that had always been his plan. I don't know. Anyway, I was arrested and thrown in jail, and with a potential felony hanging over my head, my visa and green card were revoked and I faced deportation and the possibility of never being allowed back in the States again." 

"I was frantic." Grace said. "There was no way I could contact Ingrid. No way to help her without losing you boys. Your father had us both right where he wanted us." 

"I sat in jail for weeks while the attorneys hashed things out. They had the canceled check I cashed; Bill claimed it was a forgery. But they couldn't find the money and I wasn't about to tell them where it was. My public defender was advising me to plead guilty and maybe he'd be able to negotiate that I'd only be deported and wouldn't have to serve any jail time. It seemed pretty hopeless. 

"But then one day your father came to visit me. I guess he figured that I'd sweated enough, because he said he'd help me if I did exactly as I was told. I didn't figure I had all that many options at that point, so I agreed; there wasn't much I could do for Grace behind bars anyway. So, your father pulled some strings with one of his high-powered friends and we cut a deal: Your father would drop the charges. I wouldn't have a felony conviction, but I had to agree to never contact Grace again and to immediately leave the country. And I was barred from returning for ten years. Bill never asked for the money back. Ultimately, he didn't care about the money. He just wanted to make sure that your mother and I were separated for good. 

"I knew, once I was back in Canada, that it probably wasn't safe to contact Grace directly. So I called an old friend from the bar and asked him to find a way to get a message to her. I told her that I hadn't abandoned her, and that I wouldn't rest until we had figured out some way to be together. And I left instructions for how she could contact me, if she needed to." 

"In the meantime," Grace continued. "I went on with the charade. I got an apartment across town and started therapy, while your father began the divorce proceedings. Surprisingly, he did keep his word and he allowed me to have twice monthly visitations with you and your brother. I suppose it was to keep up appearances more than anything else. But he made it clear that he was going to see to it that I lost custody of you both. I missed you both so much. Twice a month just wasn't enough, not nearly enough, but I was in no position to argue for anything more. Anytime I complained about not getting enough time with you, your father threatened to tell the judge what I had done, have me declared an unfit parent, and take away visitation all together. And I figured I'd better cherish those few visits while I could because I didn't know how long they'd continue. 

"I toyed with the idea of taking you boys during one of your visits and running away, but I was scared. I was sure Bill was having me watched, and I didn't know where I would go, even if I had the resources to pull something like that off. I knew that if I even attempted it, that would be the end of any hope I would ever have of maintaining a relationship with you. 

"I didn't even have a lawyer. I'd tried to get one from Legal Aid, but they were backed up and put me on a waiting list. I couldn't afford one of my own. I had no money at all, your father gave me just enough to pay for the barest of necessities, and without any skills to speak of, I wasn't having any luck finding a job. So I just agreed to everything Bill demanded. I had to. I didn't have any choice. 

"Unfortunately, I had bigger problems on the horizon. With Ingrid gone, I started to lose control of my senses again. At first, I was able to keep it under control through the use of relaxation exercises and the yoga, but as time passed, that was less and less effective, until everything was so out of proportion that each day was almost unbearable. I tried to at least keep things stable on the weekend when you and your brother stayed with me, but eventually, even that became difficult. And so I made excuses to Bill and the visits stopped being overnight and started being just a couple of hours on a Saturday because that was as long as I could hold things together. And finally, the visits stopped all together because I couldn't even make it through an afternoon without breaking down from the constant pain my head or slipping into a trance for hours on end. 

"One afternoon, I was trying to make lunch when I slipped into one of my trances, and the lunch started to burn. A grease fire started in the pan and caught on the kitchen drapes. Soon, the entire apartment was in flames, but I was oblivious. The neighbors called the fire department and got me out in time, but everything was lost. Luckily, there was only minor damage to the surrounding apartments. That was when your father had me committed to the Mountain Vista Sanitarium. We were still married at that point, so it was easy for him to do. With the help of the psychiatrist he'd insisted I see, he had me declared unstable and a danger to myself and those around me. 

"Once inside, I basically lost all hope. My senses were so out of control that they diagnosed me as schizophrenic and kept me drugged constantly. In my few coherent moments, I knew that I was completely alone. No one would ever come to visit me in there. The instructions telling me how I could contact Ingrid had been lost in the fire, not that I would have been able to do so from inside the sanitarium anyway. And I knew that once I was committed, it would be that much easier for Bill to get complete custody of you boys. I was ready to give up. I did give up." 

"Luckily," Ingrid began. "My friend at the bar, the one I had asked to deliver the note to Grace, happened to live in the same neighborhood she had. He learned about the fire and did some nosing around on my behalf. When he learned that Grace had been committed, he contacted me in Vancouver and told me. 

"I remembered how Grace had been when I first saw her in the psych ward at the hospital. I knew that they wouldn't understand what was happening to her. I knew that she would never make it out unless I did something to help her. 

"So I set a plan in motion. I sneaked back into the country one night, which isn't all that hard to do from Canada. I contacted the guy that had helped me set up the Cayman Islands account and asked him to get some fake passports for both Grace and me, then I went to Mountain Vista. 

"I hung out in some of the local bars and befriended some of the employees and finally found an orderly who was willing to help me get Grace out. I offered him $10,000, which was a lot of money in 1973, especially for someone making minimum wage. Late one night, near the end of his shift, he hid her in a laundry hamper and got her down to the basement and a rear door that wasn't used all that often. He'd parked his car by that door and he hid her on the floor of the back seat and covered her with blankets. She was heavily drugged, so she stayed there without moving or making a sound. And when his shift was over, he simply drove off the grounds unnoticed. Then he met me and I took her in an old beater that I had purchased. We drove the rest of the night. By morning, Grace was starting to come around and I put the second part of my plan into action. 

"I knew that by then, they would have noticed that Grace was gone and that they'd start looking for her. I also figured that once Bill found out that she was gone, he'd spare no expense trying to find her. So, the most logical thing to do was make it look like she'd died, had some sort of accident. 

"I disguised myself and we drove until we hit a small town in southern Washington and I checked into a hotel, keeping Grace hidden the whole time. Then I bought another car in that town and put what few belonging we had in it, and hid it on a road just outside of town. The next morning, I took off the disguise and Grace and I had breakfast in the local diner and stopped for gas and asked directions. Grace was coherent, but still a bit out of sorts from being so heavily drugged, so she stood out. Also, in a town of that size, most strangers are noticed just because they are strangers. But that was okay, I wanted to be sure that as many people as possible saw us. 

"After making sure we'd been noticed, we drove out of town, and I staged an accident. I left a few of our belongings in the trunk of the car and drove it off a bridge, into the river. We'd had a lot of rain that spring so the rivers were pretty swollen. I hoped that they would think that our bodies had been swept away by the current. And that if I'd made a mistake and they didn't believe we were dead, that we'd at least get enough time to get out of the country before they could track us down. 

"We kept driving after that. Only stopping when absolutely necessary to get some sleep. We went all the way to LA. By then, Grace was pretty much back to normal. We checked into a hotel to decide where we wanted to go, knowing that it would be a very long time before we'd ever come back, if at all." 

"I cried a lot during those first days. I knew that it was possible that I'd never see you boys again, and it broke my heart. But we just didn't see any other way." Grace said so softly that I leaned forward to hear her. She'd been sitting quietly while Ingrid spoke, but I couldn't help noticing that she seemed flushed and I wondered whether it was from emotion or something else. And she spoke slowly, as if she were tired. But I imagined she was. It had been a long day and dredging up all those painful memories had to be exhausting for someone in her age and in her condition, but she continued on. 

"We bought some travel magazines and started reading through them, trying to pick a place. It was in a National Geographic that we saw Santo Matteo. And somehow, I knew instantly that this was where I wanted to be. It seemed insane. It was almost primitive, inhabited at that time only by indigenous Indians and a few die-hard missionaries. It was a three-day bus ride across treacherous terrain and then a twelve hour boat ride just to get there from the nearest town with an airport. And once there, there were none of the modern comforts of Cascade. I don't know what drew me there, but it was right. I just knew it was right. So that's where we went." 

Ingrid had apparently noticed Grace's exhaustion, then, because she helped Grace lean back into the cushions of the sofa and took over. 

"When we arrived, there wasn't much of anything. The locals built their houses, well, more like shacks really, themselves, and for the most part, fended for themselves. There were certainly no stores of any sort. The Indians lived off of food and livestock they raised themselves, and traveled to the nearest town, which was "10 miles away by boat, perhaps two or three times per year to get anything they couldn't make themselves. 

"We lived with the missionaries at first. Then, with the money we had taken from Bill, we bought a couple acres of land. Everything was ridiculously inexpensive. The land itself only cost a couple hundred dollars, but it was as beautful as could be, and we pitched a tent and lived there quite happily. 

"The Indians were wary of us at first, of two white women alone in the wilds of South America. But eventually they befriended us and we convinced them to help us. The Indians helped us build a little, two-room cabin and some furniture. It was a long way from where we'd been. The surroundings were almost primitive, and still are today, for the most part. We didn't even have running water until a couple of years ago, but it felt like home.For both of us, it felt right to be there and we made a life for ourselves. 

"We learned the language and the Indians grew to trust us, and we them. They were the ones who finally shed some light on Grace's heightened senses. They told us about how in the past, there had always been a person such as Grace who used her gift to look after the tribe. They called her a Sentinel and called me her Shamen, and they said we'd been sent by God because they hadn't been blessed with a Sentinel for many, many years. But luckily, some of the elders still knew of Sentinels, what their gifts were, how to develop them, and how to control them. They helped us. Taught us. In their language, Grace's trances were called dreaming, because their Sentinels often had visions in that state. They showed her how to control the trances and use them to her advantage. They made us part of their tribe, part of their family. And in exchange, Grace used her senses to help them in whatever way she could. And she taught the local children to read and write since there were no schools in the area. 

"We became self-sufficient. We grew our own fruits and vegetables and grains and kept a few animals on our spare acre. We lived off the money your father had paid me off with. It went a very long way since there wasn't much to spend money on, anyway. It was actually a good life. Very good." 

"The only thing missing was my boys." Grace said, and her voice sounded tired and frail. Jim frowned a bit as he took her hand, and I knew, without asking, that he was checking her vitals. But Ingrid continued. 

"We figured that it was hopeless to try to contact you before you were an adult. We knew Bill would never allow that. But we did try to contact you after your "1st birthday, Jim. We hired a private investigator. The investigator determined that you had joined the army. But when he tried to track you down, the army wouldn't even acknowledge that you were enlisted, let alone tell him where you were stationed. He told us that from what he'd gathered, he suspected that you were involved in something highly confidential and he recommended that we try again in a couple of years because perhaps whatever tour of duty you were on that the army wouldn't tell us about, would have ended by then. When we tried again several years later, we were told us that you were missing in action and presumed dead, but they wouldn't tell us where, or what had happened. 

"Grace was devastated, and we weren't sure at that point whether we should even try to find and contact Stephen. Of course Grace loved him and still does, but she figured that Bill would have done his best to turn both of you against her. And since Stephen had been younger and more impressionable than you when your parents split up, Bill would have likely succeeded in convincing him of his side of the story, especially since Stephen had had such a bad reaction to the separation. But you and Grace had shared such a special bond that we hoped that you'd believe us. And if you did, that you'd have a better chance of convincing Stephen of the truth than we would. But with you gone, the chance of any reconciliation seemed pretty hopeless. 

"It was only after Grace became ill that we made the decision that we had to at least try to find Stephen. We knew that he probably wouldn't believe us, but we had to try to convince him." 

"I couldn't go to my grave in peace without knowing that I had at least done all I could." Grace said feebly, from where she sat. Jim continued to hold her hand and that worried look never left him. 

"We hired an investigator once again," Ingrid said. "and he found you both. We thought he must have been mistaken when he told us that he had found you, but he sent us pictures. And when we saw the pictures, we knew he was right. And so here we are." 

I let out a deep breath that I hadn't even realized I was holding. Man, what a tale. I have a pretty active imagination, but I couldn't make that up if I tried. My brain was absolutely spinning with questions I wanted to ask them both. What, exactly, had the Indians told them? What methods did they teach Grace to keep her senses under control? Was there anyone left there that still had information on Sentinels? The list was endless. But now was not the time, not the place. Jim was clearly concerned about his mother. She was leaning back now, with her had resting on the back of the sofa. Her eyes seemed to be drooping shut as we spoke. Jim rose from his chair and kneeled beside her. 

"She's feverish. Her temperature's been rising for the last hour." he said. 

"Oh, dear." Ingrid said, turning to feel Grace's forehead. "It's starting again so soon. We had so little time." 

"What's starting again, Ingrid? What does Grace have, exactly?" I asked, rising from my chair to kneel next to Jim. 

"We're not sure. We had really heavy rains last spring because of el nino and the mosquito problem was terrible; the worst I'd seen in all the time we'd been in Santo Matteo. We thought it was malaria at first. We tried some of the natural cures the Indians use, but that wasn't working; she kept getting worse. So we made the trek into town to see a doctor, and they said they thought it was falciparum malaria, the most serious kind, which perhaps was why it wasn't responding to the natural cures. They gave her quinine and we thought it was working, but then she got sick again and again. It would come in cycles. She would be fine for a couple of weeks and then get sick again. 

"After a while, they just said they were baffled. Whatever she had tested like malaria and had symptoms similar to malaria, but it wasn't acting quite the same. For instance, it's not unusual for the symptoms of malaria to occur in cycles, but usually it would only be in cycles of two or three days, not a couple of weeks like it was in Grace. They told us that the quinine usually worked for falciparum malaria if it had been caught early enough, but it didn't seem to be working here. 

"For Grace, no matter what drugs they tried, she kept having relapses, and she got sicker each time. They'd never seen anything like this before. They didn't know what to try anymore and they didn't have the facilities or the resources to do more than they had. That's when we decided to come back to the States. The Ranier University Medical Center is well known for its work on tropical diseases. We hoped we'd be able to find out what was going on with Grace and find you at the same time. 

"We've already seen one specialist. We have an appointment with another tomorrow. So far, they haven't been able to give us much hope. Over the last couple of months, the remissions have been shorter and shorter. They always start with a fever. This time, we barely had a week." 

"Well, what do we do?" Jim asked, a bit desperate. 

"There's nothing we can do, that I know of. I try to keep her as comfortable as I can. It generally takes a couple of days to reach the worst of it." 

"If you've got an appointment with the doctor tomorrow, maybe we should just get her to bed now. There's probably not all that much we can do until you see the doctor anyway, right?" I offered. 

"Mr. Sandburg is right, I think. I'm sure the rest will do her good." Ingrid said. 

"All right. Let's get her to bed, then." Jim said, and he rose to his feet and lifted his mother into his arms. By this time, her eyes were fully closed and she appeared to be sleeping. Jim carried her into the bedroom and laid her on the bed. As he pulled away from her, Grace grabbed his arm. 

"Jamie." 

Her voice was even fainter than before. Man, this was so not good. 

"I'm right here, Mom." Jim said,easing down to sit on the edge of the bed. 

"You're not mad at me, are you?" 

"No, Mom. Never." he said, his voice rough with emotion. 

"I didn't want to leave you." 

"I know." 

"I know it seems strange. That the whole thing must be hard for you to believe...." 

"No. Not at all. I believe you. I believe every word." 

"I'm sorry I hurt you." 

"Ssssshhhh." Jim leaned over and kissed Grace on the forehead. "Don't worry about a thing. Blair and I are going to leave now so you can get your rest. But I'll be back first thing in the morning, and we'll go see that specialist and we'll get you better. All right?" 

"I love you," 

"I love you, too." Jim said and he kissed her again and stood. When he turned to me, his eyes were glassy, but there were no tears. 

He motioned me out of the room and followed with Ingrid close behind. 

"Sandburg and I are going to go and let you take care of her. I'll be back in the morning. I want to go see this specialist with you. And if you need anything, anything at all, I want you to call me. I don't care what time it is." 

He pulled a notepad out of his pocket and scribbled on it. "This is my cell phone number. Use that because I'll always have it with me, no matter where I am." 

"Thank you, Jim." Ingrid said and she hugged him. 

"No, thank you. You've taken care of her all this time. If it wasn't for you, I'd never have had this second chance with her." 

"Well, it wasn't hard. I love her. And besides, we've taken care of each other." 

Jim smiled a bit at that, then guided me out of the room. On the way down in the elevator, he had that determined set to his jaw, and I could almost hear the wheels spinning. He was planning something. I just didn't know what. 

"Jim, I've got a friend who works at the medical center research facility in the infectious diseases unit. Let's go talk to him. Maybe he knows someone we can talk to or something." 

"Thanks, Chief. I appreciate that, but would you mind going without me?" 

"What? Don't you want to come and hear what he's got to say?" 

"I would like to know, but I trust you to relay the information to me. Besides, I've got some other things I need to do." 

"Like what, man?" 

"I'm going to go see my father." he said calmly, and I felt a chill shoot through me. 

"Uh, Jim, do you really think that's a good idea right now?" 

"I think it's an excellent idea, Sandburg." the tone was like ice. I could have hung meat in that elevator. 

"It's just that I think you're a little wound up right now, Jim. Maybe you should wait a day or two until you've had a chance to calm down." 

"I'm perfectly calm. And I'm going now." 

"Well, maybe I should go with you, then. My friend is always at the research lab. We can stop by your dad's first and then go see him." I said, feigning nonchalance, but in reality, I felt a twinge of desperation gripping me. I didn't want Jim seeing his dad alone. He wasn't showing it -- and in a way, that was more chilling than anything -- but I knew that news like this had to make him angry as hell. It sure would have made me spit bullets, and I didn't have half the temper that Jim did. I was afraid of what he might do. At least if I was there, I might be able to keep him from acting foolishly or impulsively. 

The elevator came to a halt at the ground floor and the doors slid open. Jim strode out casually, as though his whole life hadn't been completely turned upside down in that hotel suite. 

"No, Sandburg. You go see your friend. I'm counting on you to find out what you can that might help my mom. I'm going to see my father, and I'll meet you back at the loft later tonight. Okay?" 

"Uhm, yeah, Jim. Okay. Whatever you say, man. But stay cool, all right?" 

He didn't say anything to that, just turned and left. Left me standing there, wondering for the umpteenth time in twenty-four hours, what in the world I would find when I made it home that night. 

VI. 

It's funny that way, you can get used   
To the tears and the pain   
What a child will believe   
You never loved me 

You can't hurt me now   
I got away from you, I never thought I would You can't make me cry, you once had the power I never felt so good about myself 

Seems like yesterday   
I lay down next to your boots and I prayed For your anger to end   
Oh Father I have sinned 

Oh father   
You never wanted to live that way   
You never wanted to hurt me  
Why am I running away 

Maybe someday   
When I look back   
I'll be able to say   
You didn't mean to be cruel   
Somebody hurt you, too 

Oh Father -- Madonna and Patrick Leonard 

oOo 

You know the term "seeing red?" I was so mad as I drove toward my father's house that I actually did. I swear it. Everything had this crimson tinge to it. I have absolutely no idea whether it had anything at all to do with my sentinel senses. If I hadn't been so focused on other things, I might have actually stopped and paid closer attention or taken some notes for Sandburg; he would have loved that one. Or maybe I would have even had the good sense to be worried that I was having an aneurysm and that blood was pooling behind my eyes. But I didn't do any of that. I was on a mission and short of a fatal car wreck or a catastrophic natural disaster of some sort, there was nothing that could have stopped me. 

I pulled up in front of my father's house and noticed Stephen's car parked in the driveway. I was irritated at first; I'd really wanted to have it out with my old man alone. I never had explained my Sentinel abilities to Stephen and to have to stop and do so now seemed an incredible annoyance. But then, as I climbed out of the truck and marched up to the front door, I decided it was all right after all. Better to do this once and get it over with. I didn't think I could bear to tell the story twice, once to Dad and again to Stephen. 

I rang the bell and Sally answered the door. 

"Jimmy! what a surprise." 

I managed a little smile and hugged her. 

"Your father and Stephen are having dinner. Would you like me to set a place for you?" she asked. 

"No, that's all right, Sally. I won't be staying for dinner." I said in as civil a tone as I was capable of at that point. 

I walked through to the dining room and saw Dad and Stephen sitting at a table groaning under an artery-clogging feast of blood-red prime rib with scalloped potatoes and rolls heaping with butter. Even the poor little broccoli flowerets were drowning in a rich hollandaise sauce. As I surveyed the scene, I had a fleeting recognition that Sandburg must have been getting to me much more than I realized. It wasn't all that long ago that, if I hadn't hated my father so much, I would have happily pulled up a chair and tucked into that feast with them. Now, the only thing I could think was that if I didn't kill my father myself, I may well have to call the paramedics anyway to perform CPR when his heart stopped beating after being clogged with all that saturated fat. 

"Jimmy!" my dad said in surprise as he raised his wineglass and stood to greet me. 

He crossed the dining room and hugged me. I didn't hug him back. I couldn't. It was all I could do to keep from losing what little lunch I'd had. He pulled back, obviously a bit nonplussed at my lack of response, and made his way back to his seat. 

"Jimmy, good to see you. We weren't expecting you." Stephen said from his spot at the table. 

"Yes, I see that. Isn't this cozy?" I said, stiffly. 

"Dad and I try to have dinner together once a month or so to keep up on what's going on. We'd have invited you if we thought you had any interest." 

"Well, it was rude of us not to think of Jimmy. But he's here now. Sit down, Jimmy. Join us. I'll have Sally set a place for you. We'll start a new tradition. All the Ellison men having dinner together once a month." Dad said. 

I looked around the room as I tried to keep my anger in check. How could he sit there eating prime rib and drinking red wine, going on with his lord-of-the-manor lifestyle without a care in the world, acting like nothing at all was wrong, while Mom lay dying? She wouldn't be in this state if it weren't for him. If his insensitivity and cruelty hadn't driven her 10,000 miles away to live in some parasite-infested jungle. Jesus, I hated him. I hadn't known I was capable of such intense hatred. But there it was. I was glad I'd had the foresight to lock my gun in the glove compartment of the truck. I honestly wasn't sure if I could have kept myself from using it. 

"I won't be staying for dinner. And you needn't bother with future dinner invitations, either." I ground out. 

Apparently irked by my demeanor, Dad stiffened and took another drink from his glass before setting it down. When he spoke again, his tone wasn't quite so jovial. "Well, what can we do for you then, Jimmy?" 

"What happened to Mom?" I asked. No sense beating around the bush. 

His faded blue eyes flashed me a look that was one part utter surprise, one part shock, one part fear. I could hear his heart speed up, and see the miniscule beads of perspiration break out on his forehead. Then he seemed to pull himself together somewhat. 

"Your mother died in a car accident "7 years ago. You know that. Why on earth would you ask such a question?" he asked harshly. 

"Well, maybe I should ask a different question. What happened to Mom before she 'died' in this car wreck?" 

"What in the world has gotten into you, Jimmy? Why would you come here asking such absurd questions? You been smoking something with that hippie roommate of yours?" 

Dad was angry now. There was no doubt about it. But his anger was no match for mine. Not today. 

"You leave Sandburg out of this! This is about you and your lies and your deceptions! Tell me something, Dad, is there even anyone in that grave? That grave I've been visiting every god damn Mothers' Day since I was ten? I'm surprised you even bothered to buy a tombstone." I yelled, the sound of my own voice ringing in my ears. My heart was pounding so hard from the adrenaline, and the words came out in such a rush, that I was actually breathless as I stormed around the table. 

Stephen stood and put himself between Dad and me. "What the hell is wrong with you, Jim? How dare you talk to Dad like that!" he said, putting one hand on my arm to stop me from surging forward. 

I yanked my arm away from him and glared until I felt like I was boring a hole right through him. The gaze must have spoken volumes, because he backed off, but still kept himself between us. 

"Mom's alive. I've seen her. I know everything." I spat out. 

"What?" Stephen exclaimed. But I didn't acknowledge his outburst. It was Dad I was focused on. He looked at me like he'd been poleaxed. Every ounce of blood drained from his face and his heartbeat spiked so high that I wondered if he was going to have that heart attack after all. 

"What the hell are you talking about?" he managed. 

"You heard me. Much to your dismay, I'm sure." 

Dad's knees seemed to give out on him then and he sank down into his chair. 

"How do you you it's her? That it's not some -- " 

"It's her. I know it." I cut him off. 

"You can't be sure of that, Jim. Some woman turns up after "7 years claiming to be our mother and you just believe her? Did she offer to sell you some great beachfront property in Nebraska, too?" 

"Shut up, Stephen! You don't know what the hell you're talking about. It's our mother. I know her." 

"No, Big Brother, maybe it's you who doesn't know what he's talking abut. Our mother has been dead and buried for "7 years. God only knows who this con woman is that's taken you in or why you choose to believe her. You're a detective, for god's sake, you should know better." 

"Let me ask you something, Stephen." I said, regaining a bit of my composure now. "Did you go to her funeral? Did you see her body lowered into the ground?" 

"You know I didn't." 

"No, you didn't. Neither of us were allowed to go to the funeral. Why do you think that is, huh?" 

"You're insane! Dad was there! Tell him, Dad. Tell him that this is insanity." 

"Yeah, tell me Dad. Tell me exactly what went on at this funeral. Tell me about how you watched Mom's body being lowered into the ground. Tell me about how she was wearing her locket. The one she never took off. Tell me all about it." I said sarcastically, turning back to Dad, who hadn't moved from his spot in the high-backed dining room chair. 

His mouth worked for a second before he finally found his voice. He looked at Stephen, not at me. "Stephen, I thought she was dead. I really thought \-- " 

Stephen jerked back like he'd been struck. 

"Jesus Christ, Dad! What are you saying? Are you saying that this woman really could be our mother?" 

"The car.... it went into the river. We dragged it for days, but it was swollen from the spring rains and we couldn't find anything. They told me that the bodies had probably been washed out to sea." 

"Bodies? Plural? Who was she with? And if she wasn't dead, why didn't she come back?" Stephen asked incredulously. 

I leaned back against the table, fixing my penetrating gaze on my father. I could actually see him flinch from the intensity. 

"Yeah, Dad. Why don't you tell Stephen why Mom didn't come back? Tell him the whole story." 

Dad rose suddenly and rushed past us and out of the dining room. Stephen and I followed, hot on his heels, and found him at the liquor cabinet in the living room, pouring himself a generous glass of brandy. His hand shook as he swallowed down the entire glass. 

"What the hell is going on here, Jim?" Stephen asked. 

"He drove her away and he lied to us both. It's as simple as that." 

"No! I loved her! I loved your mother. I fought my parents to marry her. I put everything on the line." 

"And then you brought her here and holed her up in this tomb of a house and went off to work your twenty hour days, leaving her all alone with no friends, no family, no nothing. Is that what passes for love in your world?" 

"I had a family to support. I had to make a living, Jimmy. Why can't you understand that? Why must you keep punishing me for wanting to provide for my family?" 

"Do you think Mom cared about the money? Do you think any of us gave a rat's ass about the money and the house and the things? Don't you think any one of us would have rather had a husband or a father who was there for us? Who was capable of showing some affection? 

"Besides, you had more money than you ever needed. That's nothing more than an excuse, and a lame one at that. The fact of the matter is that you made a choice. You chose your work over your family. It was the same choice you made your entire life. And as if that wasn't bad enough, when she got sick, you baled on her. You had her committed and left her there to waste away all alone." 

"It's really easy for you, isn't it, Jimmy? Easy for you to stand there and judge me when you have no idea what it was like back then. I'm not the only one at fault here. She betrayed me, too. She brought her perversion into this house. Into my house. In front of my children! What was I supposed to do?" 

I raked my hand over my eyes at this point. I was suddenly bone tired. Tired of this little drama, tired of my father's excuses, tired of everything. Too tired to even be angry anymore. I glanced over to where Stephen stood in the corner. He was staring at both of us like we had two heads or something. To say that he was stunned and shocked into silence would have been putting it mildly. But I couldn't concern myself with him just then. He was a grown man. He would hear the evidence and make up his own mind. I wasn't going to waste any breath trying to convince him of anything. At the moment, I was concerned about one person and one person only, Mom. And I would not stand by and watch Dad puff up like some self-righteous peacock and vilify her after all that he had done to her and to me. Who the hell did he think he was? 

"What choice did you give her, Dad? Do you think she would have turned to Ingrid if you had been there for her? Who did she have? And no matter what she did, you deprived Stephen and me of a mother. You had no right." 

"I had no right? I had every right!" he bellowed. "I'm your father. I had to protect you. I couldn't expose you two to that, to her deviant behavior. What kind of father would I have been if I had?" 

"I'm not going to argue with you about your small-minded ways, Dad. So, for the sake of discussion, let's just say that you were right not to 'expose' us to that while we were children. What about when we were adults? Don't you think we had the right to make a decision about whether we wanted to see Mom? Because of you, we never got to do that." 

"Fine, Jimmy." Dad said wearily, and the sarcastic edge of his tone was not lost on me. "It's all my fault. Nothing was her fault. I'm to blame for everything. I should have known you'd take her side. You always were exactly like her." 

I bit back the caustic reply that threatened to spring forth unheeded. What was the point? After 37 years of trying to please my father and failing miserably each and every time, I was ready to gather up my chips and cut my losses. I wanted nothing more to do with this useless conversation and nothing more to do with him. With a dismissive wave of my hand, I turned to leave and suddenly, I had a flash of clarity so blinding in its intensity that it actually made my head hurt. I turned back to Dad, momentarily too stunned to even speak, but I forced the words out. 

"Jesus. That's why, isn't it?" I said slowly. 

"Why what?" he asked impatiently. 

"That's why you always hated me, isn't it? Because I was just like her." 

"Don't be absurd." 

"I could never figure it out. Could never figure out what I had done to disappoint you and why nothing I ever did was right. But it's so clear now." 

"I don't have to listen to this insanity." Dad fumed and he turned back to the bar and poured himself another brandy. 

I moved to stand behind him. "That's how you knew about my senses and why you made me suppress them. You thought that if I didn't use my senses you could pretend I didn't have them, that I wasn't a 'freak' and a 'deviant' just like her. But even when I had done exactly that, even when I suppressed who I was just to please you, you couldn't forget. I was already irreparably tarnished in your eyes." 

I stared at him, daring him, begging him silently to tell me that I was wrong. But he couldn't, and I didn't have to be a sentinel to know that. He couldn't even look at me. He just slugged back his brandy and turned away without a word. 

I've suffered countless forms of bodily injury. I've been beaten up more times than I care to remember. I've been shot several times. I've endured a helicopter crash. And during my time in the rain forest, I suffered bites from reptiles, from vermin, and from insects so unimaginably monstrous and grotesque you would have sworn they were out of a bad science fiction movie. But 'this', this realization hurt. Nothing had ever hurt like this. It actually caused me physical pain. Having a limb severed with my senses turned up as far as they could go would have felt like a paper cut by comparison. 

I backed away numbly, stumbling over my own two feet as I went. I think my hearing must have blinked out because I could see Dad's lips moving, but I couldn't hear the sound. But I did hear a voice inside my head. A voice that told me to run away and not to ever look back. There was nothing salvageable here. I turned and sped from the house, not even bothering to shut the door behind me. 

**VII.**

...   
If I was weak, forgive me   
But I was terrified   
You brushed my eyes with angels wings, full of love The kind that makes devils cry 

...   
It's a cruel world   
We've so much to lose   
And what we have to learn, we rarely choose 

....   
Take care my love she said   
Don't think that God is dead   
Take care my love she said   
You have been loved 

You Have Been Loved -- George Michael and David Austin 

oOo 

It was past midnight when I arrived back at the loft. Jim's truck was parked in its usual spot. As I rode up in the elevator, I wondered what shape he was in. Even on a good day an encounter with his father could turn Jim into a wounded, angry, snarling brute. Given all that he had learned today, I couldn't imagine what this encounter would do to him. The news I had to bring him wouldn't do much to help the situation either. He was teetering precariously on the edge as it was. This might just push him right over. 

I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what lay ahead, then entered the loft. The lights were off, which in and of itself, was not unusual. When he was alone, Jim often kept the lights dimmed or off all together. After all, why would a Sentinel need the lights on? The reflection of the city lights through the balcony doors and a healthy fire in the fireplace provided the only illumination. Jim sat in the armchair next to the fireplace, staring into the dancing flames. He didn't look overly upset or agitated, but even in the pale glow of the firelight, I could see the tiny lines of tension around his eyes and mouth that belied the turmoil raging beneath the stoic facade. 

I tossed my keys into the basket. "Hey, man, how'd it go?" I asked softly. 

"I don't want to talk about it." 

"All right." I said as I moved to sit on the coffee table next to him. The tone told me all I needed to know. I wasn't going to push for the details. It wasn't the time. 

"What'd your friend have to say?" 

"Well, Jim, you have to remember that this is just one person's opinion and -- " 

"No bullshit, Sandburg. Cut to the chase." he said tightly. 

"I'm afraid it doesn't look good, Jim. My friend, Mark, took me to talk to a guy he knows named Allan. Allan is a doctor who works in the tropical diseases unit. Your mother's case has already been the talk of the research facility, so he was familiar with it. But he got his hands on her file and tool a look at her test results. From what they gather, it looks like your Mom has falciparum malaria, just like the doctors in Santo Matteo suspected, but it looks like the parasite has mutated. They've never seen anything quite like it. That's why it isn't responding to the drugs. That's why the symptoms are similar, yet slightly different." 

"Is this some sentinel thing? The cause of the mutation?" 

"It's always possible, but my best guess is -- " 

"Don't guess, Sandburg!" Jim barked. Then his tone softened, but the underlying tension remained. "I need you to be sure, Blair. Please be sure." 

"I'll look through all my sources, Jim. But I don't think this is related to her being a Sentinel. Ingrid said they'd already tried all the cures the Indians had. If it was a Sentinel thing, those should have worked. Those indians know far more about Sentinels than I do. In all the tribal cultures I've studied that had Sentinels, if the tribe had developed cures for certain illnesses from traditional medicines, the medicine men were able to adapt it to take a Sentinel's unique physiology into account. Malaria's been around in those parts for thousands of years, Jim. Heck, most of the cures we still use today were taught to Western doctors by indigenous peoples in areas where the disease was common. If Grace tried the Indians' cures and they didn't work, then this probably is just a new strain of the disease. That happens, you know. It may be due to a new breed of mosquito, or to something the local mosquitoes have been exposed to that's mutated the parasites they spread, or maybe it's just evolution. It could be a million things." 

Jim sighed heavily and took a moment before he spoke again. "So, what can they do for her?" 

"They're bringing in another expert to examine your mom. His name is Walter Cohen; that's the appointment they have tomorrow. Allan tells me that this guy is the best in the world. He's worked for the World Health Organization and the Centers for Disease Control. There's no one else in the world that knows more about malaria than he does. Allan thinks they'll probably try some new combinations of medicine, and he tells me there are some experimental drugs around that they can try." 

"But they're not hopeful?" 

"It's hard for them to know what to expect. They've never seen anything like this before, and Allan said it's already so advanced. Your mom's been sick for months. Maybe if they'd caught it earlier....They just don't know, man. But if anyone can help her, this Dr. Cohen can." 

"All right. Thanks, Chief." he said and he rose to his feet. "Thanks for all your hard work. I'm going to try to catch some Zs. I'll be leaving early to take Mom and Ingrid to see this specialist." 

"You want me to come with you?" 

"I wouldn't want to impose, Chief. You've done a lot already. I -" 

"It's no imposition, Jim. If you need me, I want to be there for you." 

He hesitated a moment, studying me in the dim glow of the fire. Looking for what, I'm not sure. Perhaps just grappling with all those deeply ingrained lone wolf tendencies and admitting to himself that he couldn't do this one by himself, that he really needed someone this time. "Okay. I'll be leaving at 8:00." 

"I'll be ready, man." 

He nodded then, and turned and went upstairs. 

I didn't sleep that night. No use going to bed when I knew I'd never get a wink. Instead, I pulled out every scrap of Sentinel research I had at home and spent the night pouring over it. If there was anything at all to be gleaned from it, I was determined to find it. I sat on the sofa, with only the fading fire and a small table lamp providing light for my work. Although I suspected from all the tossing and turning I was hearing from the loft, that Jim wasn't getting any more sleep than I was, I didn't want to disturb him with a lot of lights. 

It was about 5:00 am when I heard Jim's cell phone chirping from above. He answered it before it even had a chance to ring a second time. I had a bad feeling about what that could be about as I listened to the few mumbled words that comprised Jim's end of the conversation. He was up and out of bed even before he'd clicked the phone shut. Then he was racing down the steps, pulling on his shirt as he went. I was on my feet and ready to go. 

"That was Ingrid. My mom's taken a turn for the worse. They're at the hospital." he said as he reached for his coat. 

"I'm right behind you, man." I said and I followed him out the door. 

oOo 

I hadn't been asleep when the call came in. I'd been lying up in that big bed staring at the ceiling, listing to Sandburg's rustling pages down below. It didn't bother me. I wasn't going to get any sleep anyway and besides, I know he was looking for information that might help my mom. I had to remember to be sure to thank him for that. He was far too devoted to me. God only knew why. 

The second the phone rang, I knew that it would be bad news. What other kind did I get these days? So I was surprisingly calm when Ingrid told me that Mom's fever had spiked to 105 and that they'd rushed her to the hospital. I was on my feet, struggling into my jeans and stepping into loafers before she'd finished talking. And by the time I hung up the phone, I was grabbing a shirt and rushing down the stairs. Sandburg was there, standing at the foot of the stairs ready to go before I even offered an explanation. He really was a good friend. The best I'd ever had, there was no doubt about that. So why did that leave me feeling so unsettled? 

We drove to the Ranier University Medical Center in silence. For as much shit as I give Sandburg for hassling me to talk things through, oddly enough, he always seemed to know when I needed to talk but wouldn't out of stubbornness or habit, and when I simply couldn't because doing so would cause a complete physical and emotional meltdown. When it was the latter, he never pushed me. Instead, he just sat quietly by, reassuring me with his presence, letting me know that he was there when I was ready to deal with whatever was eating me. Ironically, in those instances, I almost always ended up telling him what was up in the end. 

I didn't need to ask where my mom's room was. I honed in on her heartbeat the second we pulled into the parking lot. I walked directly to the small private room on the fifth floor where she had been housed. She was lying in the little bed, looking incredibly thin and fragile. Her heart was racing, trying hard to pump the infected blood through her system. Her breathing was thready and assisted by a clear plastic oxygen mask. Ingrid was sitting at the bedside, holding her hand. She started to rise when she saw me. I motioned her to stay where she was and then I took my mother's other hand in mind and held it gently. She was burning up. 

"Her liver is shutting down. They don't know what else to do, how to stop it. They'll have to start her on dialysis soon if things don't turn around." Ingrid said shakily. 

"Is the specialist here? Did he say what they were doing for her?" I asked desperately. The thought kept racing through my head that I didn't want this to be the end. Not after we'd just found each other. We'd barely had a chance to speak. 

"He checked on her a while ago. He said he was trying some different drug combinations, but all we can do is wait and see if they work." 

They were trying, I'll give them that much. But it was clear that this specialist and everyone else was stumped. They didn't really know what to do, so they were trying a little bit of everything. And god only knew if Mom's body would cooperate. If her system would work with or against the drugs. If any of these heroic efforts would make even the slightest bit of difference when all was said and done. All any of us could do was wait. And pray. 

I had never been a religious man, but I was grasping at straws. I couldn't lose her this way. I couldn't handle it. I knew I couldn't. If the devil himself had appeared in front of me and told me that he would give me a few more days with my mother in exchange for an eternity in the searing flames of hell with my senses dialed all the way up, I would have accepted the offer. I needed her to live, more than I had ever needed anything in my life. And though I had walked the tightrope between sanity and madness many times, I knew that if she died, I would finally fall. 

With nothing more to be done, and all of us too dazed to speak, we sat there stupidly, weighed down by the oppressive silence, watching Mom sleep, watching her chest rise and fall with each labored breath. After a while, Sandburg convinced Ingrid to go to the cafeteria and get a bite to eat. It was a good idea and a thoughtful one at that. Ingrid needed a break; she had been struggling with Mom all night and she had to be tired and hungry. And I needed some time alone with Mom as well. Several minutes passed after they left before I found the courage to pull my chair up close to her bedside and speak. 

"I don't want you to worry about a thing, Mom. You're going to be okay." I whispered. "You have to be okay, because there's so much we have to do. So much to say." 

I stopped, choking back the tears as I smoothed a hair back from her still too hot forehead. 

"You can't leave me yet. You can't.... " 

I stopped when her eyes opened and she looked up at me, the soft blue \-- the same blue I saw when I looked in the mirror -- clouded with confusion. She turned her head slightly towards me and I could almost feel the extreme amount of effort that little movement took. She was in pain from both the disease and the intense heat of the fever. Her lips moved and I had to dial up my hearing to make out what she was saying from underneath the oxygen mask. 

"Ingrid?" 

"No, Mom. It's Jamie." I continued to speak softly. I knew that there was a good chance that the fever was throwing her senses off-line. I didn't want to startle her or hurt her ears. 

"Jamie?" 

"Yeah. It's me. It's Jamie. I'm right here." 

"It's so hot." 

"I know. You'll feel better soon, though. I promise." I tried to sound optimistic. and perhaps that feigned optimism paid off just a bit as I saw her eyes begin to clear, to become more lucid. 

"Jamie." 

"Yes, Mom. I'm right here." 

"Tell me, Jamie. Tell me about your life, about you. I missed so much. I want to know." 

Surprised by the request, I took a minute to gather my thoughts. "There's not much to tell, Mom. After you were gone, Dad hired a housekeeper to take care of me and Stevie. Her name was Sally. She was nice, good to us both. When I finished high school, I joined the army. I served for twelve years, got to travel all over the world, South America, Europe, the Middle East. Then I came back and joined the police force. Been working there ever since." 

I paused as I realized what I had just said. Jesus, could my entire life really be boiled down to just a few sentences like that? Had it really been that empty?" 

"And family?" she asked. 

"I was married for a while, but it didn't work out. She was a good woman though. I bet you would have liked her." 

"I'm sure I would have." she breathed. "What about your father and your brother?" 

"Well... I stammered. "Dad and I, we weren't so close. Stevie either. After I left home, we didn't have much contact." 

She seemed saddened by that statement, and I hoped fervently that she didn't blame herself somehow for the troubles between Stephen and Dad and me. They would have existed regardless. They had nothing to do with her. But as I listened to myself speak, I was saddened, too. Failed marriage, estranged family. My life really had been that empty. There was a moment of silence and then her next statement came right out of left field and blindsided me. 

"You're like me, aren't you?" 

"Yeah. Just like you." I said after a moment. I should have known that she'd figure it out. 

"I knew it. I always knew it deep down. I loved your brother but you and I always has something special that bonded us together. It was different with us. Always different." she took a deep, shaky breath. "He helps you, doesn't he? Your friend, Mr. Sandburg. He's a shamen, like Ingrid." 

"Yeah, he is." 

"You mustn't be afraid, Jamie. It can be a wonderful thing. It doesn't have to be frightening." 

"I know, Mom. I know. Blair showed me that. I was afraid until he found me, but I'm not anymore." 

"He's very special to you, isn't he?" 

"Yeah. Very special." 

"Don't let him slip through your fingers. Hold on to the ones you love. Things can change so fast. So fast...." 

She closed her eyes for a moment then, and I was afraid she was fading out again, but then she opened them and stared right at me. 

"I wish I could have been there for you. Wish I could have seen you grow up and turn into such a handsome man. Such a good man." 

"You didn't know. Neither of us knew. You came back to me when you found out. You're here now. We'll have lots of time together." 

She squeezed my hand a bit with her waning strength. She knew. We both knew that she didn't have much time left. 

"In the house, in Santo Matteo, there's a box. Ingrid knows where it is. It has my journals. I've kept them ever since I found out I was pregnant with you. I want you to have them. It's not much, but...." 

"Mom, don't talk about that. You'll show me yourself. You'll be okay...." I managed, barely able to force the words past the rising lump in my throat and the tears streaming down my cheeks. 

"Maybe it's too late, but please, tell your brother. Try to make him understand. Let him know that I didn't abandon you boys. That I had no choice. I know I don't have any right to ask, but please, Jamie." 

"Yes, of course, Mom. Of course I will. I'll do whatever you need me to do. You can ask me anything." 

She clutched my hand again and I could feel that her temperature had risen even more in the short time we had been talking. 

"And please, watch out for Ingrid. Make sure she's okay. She doesn't have anyone else." 

"I promise, Mom. I promise." I cried. 

"And, Jamie, please, please find your own happiness. You deserve it. You deserve so much. Don't give up on it." 

I sat stunned as she squeezed my hand once more. She knew. She could see that I was lost in that goddamn void. The one I had been standing on the edge of and staring into for longer than I cared to admit, but which I had been unwilling to acknowledge. And she'd been able to figure it out in the short time we'd had together. 

"I love you, Jamie. I always loved you. Don't ever forget that." she breathed. 

"I won't. I won't forget. I love you too, Mom. Always." I held her hand then in both of mine and raised it to my cheek, feeling the thin, wrinkled skin brush against my own. I was fighting back the panic and the pain, struggling to form the words. "Mom. Please. Don't leave me yet. We have too much left to do. Fight for me. Fight to stay with me." I begged. 

"It's so hot. So hot. I'm sorry." she said almost inaudibly as her eyes drifted shut again and she fell into a fitful, restless sleep. 

Her temperature was rising rapidly, too rapidly. I could feel the heat wafting off of her. With her senses, it had to be unbearable. And I knew that the drugs wouldn't get a chance to work if we didn't get her fever down. We had to do something to cool her down. I pressed the call button for the nurse. When she came rushing in, I managed to stammer out that Mom's fever was too high. The nurse moved to take Mom's temperature, but she didn't need to use a thermometer. One touch of her hand told the nurse all she needed to know. You didn't have to be a sentinel to know that she was dangerously hot. 

"I'll get the doctor." the nurse said and she raced from the room. 

Within a half an hour, they had wrapped my mother in protective blankets to keep her skin from blistering under the cold, and had packed her in ice packs in a desperate attempt to bring her fever under control. As I watched, I knew that it was pointless. I knew. She was fading fast. And I didn't want to see her this way. Didn't want my only adult memories of her to be as frail and sick, but I couldn't bear to leave her. I would never leave her. If I could do nothing else, I would see to it that she was made as comfortable as possible, and I would make sure that she passed with dignity, surrounded by the people she loved. 

"Please. Find my partner and my mother's companion. They went to the cafeteria. Tell them to come back." I said the nurse who was still hovering, attending to various tasks. With a knowing nod, she went to fetch Blair and Ingrid and I sat quietly, stroking my mother's hair, willing my strength into her and pulling myself together as much as I could. I had to be strong. Ingrid had enough to worry about. I had to keep it together so that she wouldn't be burdened more than she already was and so that I could help her when all was said and done. If I thought about all there was and would be to do, I could keep from focusing on the fact that my heart was shattering into a million pieces and that my world was caving in on me. 

oOo 

I had convinced Ingrid to have a cup of tea and some toast. It wasn't much, but she needed something to keep her strength up. She was tired and so was I, truth be told, so we didn't speak for the longest time. But I knew that I had something I had to say to her. Something that had been nagging at me. 

"Ingrid." 

She looked up at me, her lovely chocolate brown eyes, ringed with dark circles. 

"Look, about the other day. I just wanted -- " 

"It's not necessary, Mr. Sandburg." 

"Please, it's Blair. And I think it is." 

"I understand, Blair. You love him." 

I felt my cheeks flushing at her statement. 

"You want to protect him. I would have done exactly the same for Grace." 

I held her hand then in a gesture of mutual support. And I knew that she did understand. How could she not? She was Grace's shamen and guide, just as I was Jim's. She understood the strength of the bond and the depth of the feelings. 

It was then that the nurse came and told us that Jim had asked us to return. We knew that this was it. We walked back quickly and found Grace covered in ice packs to bring her temperature down, I presumed. Jim sat by her side, stroking her hair, his eyes red and puffy, but dry. 

Ingrid moved to the far side of the bed. She leaned forward and kissed Grace softly on the forehead and whispered something in her ear. Then she pulled up a chair and she sat. I took my place in the corner, out of the way, but close enough to help should either Jim or Ingrid need anything. And we went back to sitting in silence. Watching and waiting. Waiting for the inevitable conclusion. 

Over the next few hours, the doctors came and went, trying one medication after another, attaching Grace to machine after machine as her organs began to fail. Each time, the looks on their faces betrayed their mounting frustration at the failure of their efforts. By early that afternoon, their efforts didn't matter any more. It was over. Grace passed away without ever regaining consciousness. For a long moment, we all sat in stunned silence, then Ingrid began to cry softly. Jim sat stock still as though carved in marble, his face betraying none of the turmoil that I knew he must be feeling. 

We stayed until they had taken Grace's body away, and then, through some unspoken agreement, we all rose to leave at the same time. As we walked down the sterile hospital corridor, we saw Jim's father and brother walking toward us and we all stopped in our tracks. I looked nervously to Jim to see what he would do. I was more than a little worried about his state of mind. But he still had the same stone face he had worn for the last several hours. Whether he was sad, or angry, or both, I just couldn't tell. Ingrid and I stood frozen as Jim appeared to steel himself for confrontation, standing a bit taller, pulling his shoulders back, then striding toward them. But there was no confrontation at all. Rather, despite the inquisitive stares from William and Stephen, Jim just walked right past them without a word. 

Bill and Stephen turned to Ingrid and I, who were just as stunned as they were. I felt a tinge of sympathy for them, but particularly for Stephen. He'd had no idea what had been going on. William had kept the truth from him, just as he had from Jim. But the feeling for Bill was fleeting at best. I saw him clearly for what he was, a pathetic old man who had driven two loving people from his life. He had made his own bed. He had caused this, all of it. This incredible pain that touched so many lives. Worst of all, he had hurt Jim. Badly. And my first priority -- my only priority, really -- was helping Jim work his way out of this incredible mess. I was his guide; that was my job. 

I took Ingrid's arm in mine and we started to walk. We stopped in front of them and I looked Bill squarely in the eye. 

"You're too late. Grace died a half an hour ago." I said, and we headed out to Jim's truck without waiting for a reply. 

We took Ingrid back to the hotel and then returned to the loft. Once home, Jim vanished up to the safety of his bedroom. We hadn't spoken a word to each other since arriving at the hospital. I had to admit that I didn't know what to say, how to even begin to help him. I knew I had to tread carefully, though. And I knew he needed his space. And we both needed some rest. So perhaps this was for the best. We'd sort this out in time. 

**VIII.**

When clouds above you start to pour   
And all of your doubts rage like a storm And you don't know who you are anymore Let me help you find what you've been searching for 

Somewhere there's a field and a river   
You can let your soul run free  
Someday let me be the giver   
Let me bring you peace   
Somewhere there's a break in the weather Where your heart and spirit go free   
Someday it'll be for the better   
Let me bring you peace 

I know you think no one sees   
The weight on your shoulders   
But you can't fool me   
And aren't you tired, of standing so tall Let me bet the one to catch you when you fall 

... 

Let me bring you joy, let me bring you peace Take the tears that you cry, trust them to me Let me give you heart, and give you hope Be the one constant love that you've never known 

Somewhere, Someday -- Andy Goldmark and Mark Mueller 

oOo 

The next weeks were a blur, to say the least. I was amazed by Jim and frightened for him all at once. True to form, he took control, ensuring that everything was taken care of and that everyone else was all right. He made sure that Ingrid was okay, made arrangements to have Grace's body returned to Santo Matteo, and purchased airline tickets for the three of us to escort the body to its final resting place. But he was operating on autopilot, never once taking care of himself or allowing himself to feel or express his own grief and rage and pain. 

The trip to Santo Matteo was quick, despite the distance and the considerable time and effort it took to reach the destination. I thought the trip might have been good for him. That it would be a chance to heal. A chance to learn more about his mother and make a connection with her life even though she was now gone. But Jim was so tightly wound I feared he might snap at any time. He couldn't seem to bear to be there, to be where his other had been exiled for so long, to see her simple home and meager possessions or hear stories of her life. So we stayed only long enough to attend the traditional burial that the local Indians organized for Grace, and to see to it that Ingrid had everything she needed, and then we were on our way. 

Before we left, Ingrid pulled me aside as Jim was loading our rented jeep for the drive to the island's only little town, where a boat awaited us, and told me to watch out for him. She said she knew that Grace had asked him to take care of her, but she knew that she would be fine. The Indians were family to her and they would watch over her. She said that it was Jim that she was really worried about. And she knew that Grace had been worried about him as well. She said that they had both had the feeling that I was the only person Jim had in his life that he could trust completely and they hoped that I would look after him. I had given her my word, of course. I would have taken care of him anyway. I couldn't not do it. 

But now, back in Cascade, I was at a loss as to how to get through to him. He wasn't acting like himself. He still maintained the facade he had assumed in the hospital the day that Grace passed away. He walked around like a zombie, unaware and uncaring of what was going on around him. He'd brought back his mother's journals from Santo Matteo and placed them on the bookcase in the living room, and to the best of my knowledge, he hadn't cracked any of them, not even once. We'd had a couple of messages from Stephen on the answering machine, but as far as I could tell, he never returned the calls. He hadn't yelled or snapped at me, he didn't even seem sad, really. He made small talk with me from time to time, but it was hollow. He wasn't there. This was not my Jim. And I wondered if I'd ever get him back. 

oOo 

I had a bad feeling when I woke up that day. I didn't know why. I just had a foreboding feeling deep in my gut. I knew that something was horribly, terribly wrong. I opened my bedroom door with trepidation, not sure what I expected to see. But everything seemed quite normal, really. Jim, who had yet to return to work, sat at the dining table, sipping coffee and reading the paper. And everything was in its place, as it should be. I shook my head, thinking that I was still a bit out of sorts from the upheaval of the past three weeks and that I was letting my imagination get the better of me. 

I showered and dressed and gathered my notes for my morning lecture at the University. Glancing at my watch, I saw that I had just enough time to have one of my usual algae shakes before I had to leave. As I pulled the ingredients out of the fridge, I glanced over at Jim, who sat silently, engrossed in his paper. I wished, as I put the ingredients in the blender and set it to puree, that things were back to normal. That Jim would give me a hard time about the stench of my algae shakes, or the state of the bathroom, like he would have done before all this madness started. I wished I had some idea how to make him feel better, how to lessen his pain. 

"Hey, Jim, what have you got planned today?" I asked, trying to draw him out a bit. 

"Not much, just finishing up a few things." he responded without looking at me. 

I stifled my sigh. The response was typical of our exchanges since we'd returned home. 

"I've got a couple of hours free this afternoon. You want to stop by Ranier and have some lunch?" I asked hopefully. 

"Can't. I've got someplace to be." 

I gulped down my algae shake and rinsed out the blender and the glass. 

"All right. I just thought it might be nice for us to talk, you know? A lot's happened and we haven't had much chance to sit down and kind of sort things out." I said softly. 

"Thanks for offering, Sandburg." Jim said, with no further explanation and no offer to reschedule. 

"All right, then. Maybe later." I said, trying hard to keep from sounding disappointed. Jim had enough to deal with on his own without worrying about upsetting me. I gathered my books and papers and moved to the door, shrugging into my jacket. 

"Chief." 

I turned to see Jim standing, looking at me. 

"Chief... Blair, I just wanted to say thanks for all you've done for me these last couple of weeks." 

"I was glad to help. I just wish I could have done more, you know?" 

"You did plenty. And I don't want you to think that I'm ungrateful. I'm not." he said. 

"I never thought that you were." 

"Good." 

"It's like I said, it's about friendship, right?" 

"Yeah, it's about friendship." 

I opened the door to leave and that feeling was screaming at me, intensifying, growing out of control. I turned back to Jim. 

"Jim, are you okay?" 

He looked up at me, his eyes slightly startled for just a second, the first flash of emotion I'd observed since Grace's death. Then, just as quickly, the facade was back. 

"Yeah, I'm fine." 

"I know that maybe it seems inconceivable right now, but things will bet better, Jim. I know they will. Maybe we just need to get back to our regular routine again. Maybe then things will get back to some semblance of normalcy? I kind of miss that, don't you?" 

"Right now, Chief, I just want some peace and quiet, you know? I just want all of this to go away." 

"Yeah, I understand. It's been a rough couple of weeks. But, you know you can talk to me, right?" 

His lips curved into a small, sad smile. "Yeah, I know." he said softly. 

I glanced down at my watch and was annoyed to see that I was going to be late for my lecture. But there was no conflict, really, this wasn't much, but it was the most Jim had opened up to me since our return. I felt a little pang of hope at this slight progress. I wanted him to go on. "Jim, man, I've got a class now but if you want to talk, I'll cancel it. Just say the word." 

"No, I don't want you to miss your class. You've missed enough for me already. You've been a good friend, Chief." 

"Are you sure? Because I can -- " 

"Yeah, I'm sure. Thanks for offering. You have a good day, all right?" 

"Yeah, you too." 

"Good bye, Chief." 

"See you later, Jim." I said uneasily, and then I left. 

Despite our little talk, that nagging feeling stayed with me as I drove to the University and prepared for my morning lecture. It kept gnawing at me, no matter how much I told myself that it was my overactive imagination gone haywire or how hard I tried to push it aside. And when pushing it aside didn't work, I tried to get a grasp on what this feeling was trying to tell me. But it was just beyond my reach. 

So I went ahead with my lecture. And I was halfway through diagramming the ruling hierarchy of the ancient Aztecs when it hit me like a mack truck. The chalk I'd been writing with fell out of my suddenly nerveless fingers as I fought back the rising panic. I stammered something to my students -- I'm not sure what -- and gathered up my notes and raced from the hall. 

I ran straight to my car and sped home. Once I reached the loft, I tore up the three flights of stairs and into the apartment, shouting Jim's name. But the loft was empty and my shouts echoed off the vaulted ceilings. I looked around frantically as a shiver of terror traveled down my spine, then I saw the paper. It was folded primly, sitting innocently in the middle of the dining table as if it was nothing more than a shopping list. But that little voice from earlier this morning was shrieking an almost deafening warning and I knew better. 

I rushed over and picked it up, unfolding it and scanning the fine print. And as I read, horror took hold and twisted my insides, threatening to rip my heart right out of my chest. It was Jim's will. Jesus! His fucking will! And then his words came back to me -- "running errands, taking care of business, finishing up a few things" -- he'd been putting his affairs in order. And that lack of emotion, that ghastly calm demeanor, it was textbook behavior for someone who had decided to commit suicide! And this morning, that exchange before I left. He'd been saying good-bye. It was so clear, now. But I hadn't spotted it! What kind of goddamned observer was I? I hadn't spotted it and now he was gone and he'd left his will on the dining table for me to find. 

A stream of curses in five different languages spilled from my lips and I dropped the paper like it was on fire, as a wave of blinding rage washed over me. That selfish, inconsiderate, fucked up asshole. How could he do this to me? How could he sit there like it was any other morning and tell me to have a good day, knowing what he was going to do? That bastard! 

I felt ill. Felt like I was going to be violently, uncontrollably ill right on the spot. But I pushed it down and raced down to my car. And then I stopped in my tracks. Where the hell was I going to go? How was I going to find him? What if I was already too late? I was so scared I felt lightheaded and almost hyperventilated right there in the middle of Prospect Street. 

But then I took a few deep breaths and I chastised myself. Calm the fuck down! Think! Think! Think! Where would he go? How would he do this? Then I had a thought. It was a long shot, to be sure. Not based on anything more concrete than a hunch, but I had nothing else to go on, so it ws better than nothing. I knew, though, that if I was wrong, I wouldn't get another chance. I had to be right the first time. I simply had to. No pressure there. None at all. With that sobering thought, I jumped back into my car and took off to the east, toward the mountains. 

I drove as fast as the Volvo would go. And as I drove, I said a prayer to every deity I'd ever heard of. And I'm not sure, but I may have even made up a few. I prayed in every language I knew, even the ones I only knew a few broken words of. I firmly believed that deities understood all languages, but there was no sense taking chances now. I found my way to a little spot Jim had shown me once when we were out hiking. It was normally an hour drive, but I made it in just over thirty minutes. How I escaped being stopped by the highway patrol, I'm not sure. Those prayers must have been working after all. 

Once I reached the location, I still had to hike up the bluff to a little spot Jim had taken me to once. It was well -hidden, despite being relatively close to the road and the designated hiking trail. That was one of the great things about it. I remember when Jim had shown it to me. I was amazed by the fantastic view. Even I could see all the way to the bay beyond the city; Jim's view had to have been astonishing. He said he liked to go there to think because it was so peaceful and so quiet. That was what Jim had said that morning, that he just wanted some peace and quiet. 

When I arrived, I was barely able to park the car before I was jumping out and running, full speed, all the way up the bluff. As I ran, I continued to pray, to pray that my hunch was right, to pray that I wasn't too late, to pray that my lungs wouldn't explode before I made it to the top. When I reached the summit, I was forced to stop to catch my breath. Clinging to a tree, I bent over, panting and gasping for air. As I was struggling to fill my lungs, I saw him, sitting on the grass near the edge of the bluff. I couldn't see his face. My heart kept pounding, but now more from fear than exertion. Tentatively, I began walking toward him. I didn't want to spook him. I didn't know what he would do or what he had already done. 

As I got closer, I saw his hand move slightly at his side. I felt a wave of relief wash over me at that; at least he was still alive. But then I saw that his hand was wrapped around his gun, clutching it so tightly that his knuckles were absolutely white from the pressure. I swallowed the lump in my throat and continued to move toward him. He made no move to acknowledge me, even though I know he must have heard me. 

"Jim." I said softly, with no idea what I would say next. 

He didn't move. As I got as close as I dared, I saw that he was staring out over the city. His eyes were a bit too bright, but the facade was still firmly in place. 

I sat down on the grass a short distance from him. 

"Jim. Hey, man, what's going on here? Talk to me." 

He kept looking out over the city. A long while passed with silence between us. But he seemed to be gathering his thoughts, so I waited. 

"I can't do this anymore, Chief." he said finally, without looking at me. 

"Do what, man?" I asked warily. 

"Any of this. I can't do it anymore. I can't take..." he stopped, choked up. 

"Jim, this isn't the way." 

He didn't respond. He continued to stare unseeingly ahead. I struggled for something to say, something to stop this. 

"Jim, please don't do this." 

When he spoke again, his voice was calm and steady, despite the tears that had started to trail down his cheeks. "My whole life has been about failures and lies and betrayal. And I -- I just can't do it anymore." the words came out in a rush, leaving him gasping for breath slightly when he'd finished. 

I glanced down and saw his fingers reflexively gripping and releasing the gun, and I feared he would do something impulsive before I could stop him. I was poised to pounce, prepared to throw myself between him and the gun if I had to. But I knew, in my heart, that if he were to try something, I probably wouldn't be able to prevent it. He was a former Army Ranger; he knew things. He knew tricks and secrets and moves that I would never know, that I could never anticipate. So I had to use the only tool I had at my disposal, my most powerful tool, words. 

"All right. So don't do it. You don't have to do anything you don't want to, Jim. Let's not do this anymore. Either of us." I said. 

For the first time, he turned to look at me. 

"What?" 

"Let's not do this anymore. Let's get away from all this insanity, from police work, from Cascade, even from being a sentinel. We'll go away for a week, a month, a year, forever. Whatever you want, Jim. Just say the word." 

His eyes had grown increasingly wider as I spoke, and I glanced down to see his grip on the gun loosening ever so slightly. Maybe I was making progress. 

"What are you talking about?" he asked, his voice suddenly husky with welling emotion. 

"Just what I said. You and me. Let's go. We'll leave all of this behind us, if that's what you want." 

"You'd give up everything just like that? For me?" 

"Of course I would, in a second." My own voice was shaky now. 

"Why?" 

"Don't you know?" 

He shook his head in the negative at my question. 

"Geez, man, it's because I love you. Because I'm in love with you. The rest -- the thesis, the degree -- it's all just stuff. In the long run, it doesn't mean a thing. You're all that's important to me. You think I've been trailing around behind you dodging bullets for three years because I like your cooking? Hardly likely." I tried to laugh, but it came out sounding faltering and weird, because I was so damn scared, scared like I'd never been before. Not ever. Not even when Lash had me chained to that chair and was pouring those drugs down my throat and I was sure I was about to die a slow and painful death. 

Jim's blue eyes widened even more and he stared at me silently for an interminable second before he spoke again. 

"You're what?" 

His voice was thick and tinged with what? Amazement? Disgust? Anger? I couldn't tell. And I couldn't answer him because I had an intensely nauseating feeling that I had just made things worse. I had been so desperate that the words had just poured out of my mouth but I realized now that this was so not the place for revelations of this sort. What the hell had I been thinking? I was such an idiot! My heart sped up again with fear. 

"Jim, I'm sorry, man. I shouldn't have said that. I - I - I - " I stammered stupidly. And then something happened that stunned me to my core; Jim gasped suddenly like he couldn't breathe and then he dropped his head into his hands and started crying. Not the silent tears that I'd witnessed several times since this whole sickening drama began, but deep, wrenching sobs, that shook his solid frame. And I sat there with my mouth open, catching flies, my brain racing wildly as I tried to figure out what the heck was going on or what to say. 

I reached out for him, but he pulled away and scrambled to his feet and started running into the woods, with the gun in his hand. I moved on instinct, leaping to my feet and running after him into the grove of trees, calling his name, begging him to stop. He stumbled and fell and I dropped to my knees next to him and tried to reach out for him again, but he pulled away, putting the barrel of the gun into his mouth. And instinct took over once again as I shouted at him, playing the only trump card in my deck. 

"James Joseph Ellison, I swear to god, if you pull that trigger, I'll follow you, man! I'll take that gun out of your cold, dead hand and I'll use one of those bullets for myself. I'll do it! I mean it!" 

I held my breath as I waited to see what he would do. Slowly, he lowered the gun as I knew he would. Because he didn't care one wit about himself, but I knew that he cared about me and if he thought I was serious \-- which he did, and which I was -- I knew he'd stop. The heart-wrenching sobs returned as he sank down into the blanket of leaves and pine needles. I sat next to him, wrapping my arms around him, holding him, letting him cry it out. 

"I know it hurts, Jim. I know it does and I'm so sorry. I'm so damn sorry that so many people have hurt you. But I'll never hurt you, not ever." 

"Let me go, Blair. You can't love me. Everyone who's loved me, everyone that's ever meant anything to me, is dead. Mom, Danny, Jack, Lila, everyone. And you, I've almost lost you so many times. And then you died, too, and that was my fault. It was all my fault. But by some miracle, you came back to me and I should have let you go then, I should have known. But I needed you so much and so I kept you by my side, kept putting you in danger. I've been so fucking selfish. But I can't do it anymore. I can't. I can't spend every day waiting and wondering when you'll be next. Wondering what I'm going to do to get you killed, too. I can't lose anyone else. I can't ...." he gasped, the words tumbling out. 

My own stunned tears began to fall now as I continued to hold him close. He wasn't disgusted at all. He was scared. For me. 

"Jim, nothing's gonna happen to me." I managed. 

"Yes. Yes it will. It will if I'm around. Don't you understand? Haven't you witnessed it already? I'm poison! Poison to anyone who gets too close." he cried frantically. 

"Jim, none of that was your fault! Not Danny, not Jack, not Lila, not me, and especially not your mom. None of it." 

"Please don't make me live with this pain anymore. Just let me go. Let me go so you can be safe." 

"But, Jim, don't you get it, man? You're my best friend. You're my world. I love you and I need you. I want to be with you. No matter what the cost, because without you, my life's not worth living. That's what I've been trying to tell you." 

"No. No. No...." he sobbed, burying his face in his hands once again. 

"Let me help you, Jim. Let me get you some help. We can get through this. We can do it together. I know we can." I whispered in his ear. 

As he continued to sob, I eased the gun out of his hand, unchambered the bullet, flicked the safety on, and tossed it aside. Then I didn't say anything else, because he couldn't be consoled and mere words seemed pointless anyway. I just wrapped my arms around him and continued to hold him until he'd cried so long and so hard that he went into a zone-like state. Then I managed to get him back to the car and to the loft and put him to bed. The immediate danger had passed. We'd deal with the rest later, when he'd gotten some rest and we'd both had the chance to calm down. 

oOo 

I surfaced from the darkness slowly, becoming aware of a splitting pain behind my eyes. The last thing I remembered was being on Snohomish bluff, with my 9 mil in my mouth, threatening to blow my brains out as Blair looked on. I didn't remember much after that. And I wondered where I was, what had happened, and whether I was in hell, because I sure didn't deserve to go to heaven. 

Fighting against the pain, I sent my senses out, trying to figure out what was going on. The first thing I sensed was cool cotton surrounding me and plush goose down beneath my head. Sending my senses out a bit farther, I heard the hum of a laptop and the steady, reassuring beat of Blair's heart. I realized that I must have been in the loft, in my own bed, and that Blair was downstairs working on his laptop, just like any other day. And how Blair had gotten me from Snohomish bluff into my own bed, I had no idea. But most importantly at the moment, I sensed that there was no direct light source surrounding me, so it was safe to open my eyes. Tentatively, I slit them open and looked around. 

The loft was dark and I could see through the skylight that it was nighttime. there was a dim glow from downstairs and I guessed that Blair had only one small lamp on so as not to disturb me. Grimacing from the pain at my temples, I turned my head to see two small bottles of water chilling in a bowl of melting ice. A smile touched my lips when I saw that Blair had thoughtfully placed a towel under the bowl to keep the condensation from ruining the nightstand. Next to the bowl stood a bottle of aspirin. 

Blair knew me so well, in more ways than one. He knew that the condensation on the nightstand would annoy me and he knew that I'd wake up with a splitting headache after the events of the day. He really did love me. He did. He'd been showing me in a thousand little ways over the last three years. And I think I had always known that, but like so many other things in my life, I didn't want to acknowledge it. Because if I did, I would have had to figure out what the hell it was that I'd been feeling for so long. 

I reached out and took a bottle from the bowl and opened it, chugging the contents thirstily. The icy water was like a godsend, soothing a throat that felt like sandpaper. I finished the bottle without even stopping to take a breath, then opened the small white bottle and took out three aspirin, swallowing them as I greedily drank down the second bottle. I heard the scrape of Blair's chair against the hardwood floor as I placed the second empty bottle on the nightstand. He'd heard me moving around. he was moving toward the loft. He mounted the stairs and soon I felt the depression of the mattress as he sat down next to me. I turned to look at him. 

"Hey, man, how are you feeling?" 

He kept his voice low and it was as soothing as the softest cashmere against my bare skin. 

"Like shit." I croaked, my voice rusty. 

He smirked a bit at that, but his eyes were very serious. And I knew how much I had scared him, knew how sad he was at what I had tried to do. 

"I'm sorry." I breathed. 

"You were hurting. Badly. I understand. I do." 

I stared up at the ceiling, avoiding his eyes. 

"I won't try it again." I said, answering the unspoken question that hung between us. And if the words sounded tentative and unsure, it was because they were. I wished I meant it, but I wasn't really sure that I did because I still didn't know how to make the pain go away and I wasn't sure I had the strength to figure it out. 

Blair didn't respond. And he was silent for so long that I turned back to him. I hated that look of fear in his eyes. Hated knowing that I was the cause of it. 

"I meant what I said this morning, Jim." he said gravely. 

"And so did I." I managed. "I don't want you around me. I won't endanger you that way. You've got so much ahead of you. You could have a brilliant career in teaching and anthropology, a family that loves you, a future. You can't give all that up. Can't throw it away for me." 

"I'm not throwing anything away. You don't seem to understand that I don't have any choice, man. I love you. I could sooner cut off my leg, than leave you. That's just the way it is. There's nothing to be done about it. And I wouldn't want to, anyway." 

I looked up at him speechlessly. 

"Yeah, that's right. I meant that part, too. I especially meant that part. I love you. I have forever." 

"Do you love me because you're my guide, or are you my guide because you love me?" I asked. The question may have been a bit cryptic, but Blair knew what I meant. I wanted to know if he only loved me because of these damn senses. I was genuinely curious to know. 

"Does it matter?" Blair asked solemnly. 

I frowned at that. It wasn't what I wanted to hear because the answer did matter. It mattered to me. Blair knew that and he quickly continued. 

"Look, Jim." he sighed. "I honestly don't know. Really. I can't say the thought hasn't crossed my mind that maybe my love for you is tied, somehow, to the Sentinel thing. That maybe there's some crazy, unexplainable something that bonds us together because you need me to function properly and to carry out your responsibilities. Seeing your Mom and Ingrid together made me wonder even more. I'd like to say that there's no connection at all, but that wouldn't be all together honest. We were thrown together because of your Sentinel abilities. I doubt our paths would have ever crossed, otherwise. I know I never would have gotten to know you the way I do if it hadn't been for my research and my work with you as your guide. So, in that sense, at least, maybe the connection between us is due to you being a Sentinel. 

"On the other hand, I know, without a doubt, that my love for you is not dependent in any way on you having those enhanced senses. If you lost every one of them right this second, I wouldn't love you one bit less. Because over the last three years I've come to know more than Jim Ellison the Sentinel and the Super Cop. I've come to know Jim Ellison the impatient, hotheaded, perfectionist; the anal-retentive neat freak; the best friend who offers me the last beer even when he wants it himself; the good, decent man who'd put his life on the line without a second thought for the people he cares about, and even for the ones he doesn't; and the scared, neglected little boy who grew into a vulnerable man, even though he would never admit it. I've come to know and love all of those Jim Ellisons. So maybe my love has nothing at all to do with you being a Sentinel. I don't know. Chicken and the egg, man. Chicken and the egg. Whatever the reason, I love you, and I always will. That's the bottom line." 

I sighed and lay back against the pillow, staring up at the ceiling. 

"Look, Jim, I know that this is a lot to drop in your lap and that it's a big revelation. I hope you're not upset by what I've told you." 

"No, I'm not upset." I said without looking at him. 

"It doesn't mean anything. I mean, it doesn't have to change things between us. I'd never do anything that would make you uncomfortable." he said quickly. 

"I'm not uncomfortable, Chief." 

"Well, it'd be okay if you were. I know that..." 

"Chief," I interrupted, because he was babbling on in a sure sign of nerves. "I'm not uncomfortable. I just -- I -- " I stammered. 

"What?" Blair asked anxiously. 

I turned back to him. "I never realized that you were gay." 

"I'm not, precisely. I'm... flexible." he said with a slight grin. 

"When did you first know?" I asked softly. 

"Pretty early. You know Naomi, always encouraging me to explore and get in touch with my inner self. Well, I did and so I knew there was something rather different about me early on. Then, once I was older \-- about ten -- I realized the significance of that difference." 

"What did Naomi say when you told her?" 

"I didn't tell her until I was twelve, but I'm sure she knew long before that. When I told her, she hugged me and said that she loved me, and that she was happy I had discovered who I was. Then we meditated, chanted, re-charged our crystals, and celebrated my discovery with a dinner of tofu-mince pie." he chuckled, but I couldn't laugh with him. I felt a knot in my stomach, felt slightly ill. I just looked down at my hands twisting the sheet in my lap. 

"Jim, are you sure you're not upset about this?" 

"No. I'm not upset. It's just that... that I didn't know." I repeated. 

"Well, it's not like I was advertising or anything. I was afraid to tell you, afraid of how you'd react. I know you're not a homophobe, but sometimes thins are different when they hit closer to home and I didn't want to take the chance. Besides, I haven't been with a man since we've been working together, so it was easy to keep it hidden." 

I felt an enormous wave of guilt wash over me at Blair's words. 

"Jesus, Blair, you didn't have to do that, not because of me." 

"It's all right. I like women fine. And besides, I wasn't really interested in other men after I met you. I guess you were my holy grail in more ways than one." 

"But I made you live a lie. It's bad enough that I put you in danger on a daily basis. You shouldn't be here. You shouldn't have to -- " 

"No, Jim," Blair cut in. He frowned and let out what seemed to be a sigh of frustration. "Don't do that. Don't you dare blame yourself. You didn't 'make' me do anything. Now listen to me and hear me well. Despite what you and Simon might think, I'm an adult. I make my own choices. I don't do anything that I don't choose. And I choose to be here with you. That's. My. Choice. That's what I want." 

I felt, suddenly, like I couldn't breathe and that pain in my chest was back, the one that I'd felt so many times before. Only it was worse than it had ever been. I turned away from Blair, curling in on myself, trying to catch my breath. 

"Jim. Jim, what's wrong?" Blair's anxious words drifted over my shoulder, but I couldn't get enough breath to answer. 

"Jim! Jim! What's going on?" The words were a bit more frantic this time, 

I closed my eyes, fighting against the pain, and I knew that this pain had a deeper meaning, that it was trying to tell me something, as it had been all along. There was a revelation fighting like hell to come out, and I was fighting just as hard to keep it down. Blair came around and knelt next to the bed, looking me in the eye. 

"Jim! Tell me what's wrong." he urged. 

"I.... can't...." I gasped and I cringed as the pain blossomed in my chest. I felt my senses spinning out of control and I clamped my eyes shut as tightly as I could. 

Blair moved to sit on the edge of the bed and he put his hands on my shoulders. "Jim, listen to me carefully. It's okay. It's okay to tell me." 

I felt myself slipping away, slipping into the zone. And I stopped fighting, because it was a welcome thing. I wanted so badly to avoid confronting my feelings that it was absurdly tempting to slip so deeply into this zone that every fucked up thing in my life just vanished. But ultimately, I couldn't do it, because I wasn't affecting just myself anymore. I started moving back toward the surface. 

"....okay. It's all okay. That's it, Jim. Come on back." 

I opened my eyes and was silent for a moment as I gathered my courage. 

"It's okay, Jim. It's okay to say it." Blair said softly. 

I swallowed hard then looked up at him. "I think I'm in love with you, too." I murmured. 

A smile touched the corner of his mouth. 

"There. That wasn't so bad, was it?" 

"You knew?" 

"No, not for sure. But I had some suspicions." 

I turned my head into the pillow and moaned. "Jesus, Blair, I'm thirty-seven years old. Why didn't I realize this before?" 

"Oh, I don't know. I think that deep down, you did know. But you repressed it like you do everything else that you aren't ready to deal with." 

I sighed and hugged my pillow, clutching it to me for comfort. 

"I was already such a disappointment to my father in so many ways. I couldn't even let myself think something like that, let alone acknowledge it. It just wasn't an option." 

"Well, we know what happened to your mother, so perhaps your instinct to protect yourself wasn't misplaced. But your father can't hurt you anymore." 

"But he can, Blair. I'm afraid. Afraid to find out what else he's done and what else I've repressed. I can't handle any more revelations. I just can't. I'm so tired." I said miserably. 

"Then let's go somewhere where he can't hurt you anymore. Like I said, man, let's get away from this place and all the insanity that goes along with it. Somewhere there's a place that's beautiful and peaceful and serene. It's a place where you can heal. We'll find that place together and we'll stay there for as long as you need to." 

"No, I can't do that to you. I won't ." 

"Jim, I know how hard it is for you to accept help. I know that you haven't ever had anyone that you could rely on, and that you've worn this "supercop" facade for so long that perhaps you're not even sure anymore who the real Jim Ellison is. But you don't have to be strong anymore, because I'm here and I'm not leaving you, not for any reason." 

"Blair..." 

"No. No more arguments. I love you and I'm going to be here for you and help you, whether you like it or not. That's all there is to it." 

I sat, stunned for a moment at the declaration put forth in a tone that broached no argument. 

"Well, I guess I can't argue with that." I finally quipped. 

"No, you can't." Blair said with a smile and then he reached out and wiped away a tear that had found its way down my cheek and he was suddenly very serious and his eyes were quite bright. "We'll just take things nice and slow, okay? One day, one hour at a time. Baby steps." 

"Yeah, baby steps." I echoed, my voice unexpectedly husky. 

I saw him moving forward then, and I knew what was coming but I didn't really know how to react to it. I felt myself sinking back into the pillow a bit, uncertain what to do, how to handle this, how to respond. Then I felt his lips touching mine in what had to have been one of the most chaste, yet most life altering kisses I'd ever experienced. I'd never imagined it could feel so right and almost without realizing what I was doing, I found myself winding my hands into the silken strands of his hair. And it was heady, intoxicating. I felt almost drunk with the sensation of that simple kiss. 

"Mmmm, that's a good start. A very good start." Blair murmured as he pulled away. 

I stared up at him, unable to find my tongue. Unsure what the appropriate response was when you'd just kissed your best friend and that one kiss held more passion and promise than any sex act you had ever shared with your wife. Blair beamed back at me. It was a smile that lit up the room like a megawatt bulb. 

"So, you want to celebrate your discovery with some tofu-mince pie?" 

I laughed then. It was the first time I'd laughed in weeks and it felt great. 

"I could eat something. But definitely not tofu-mince pie." 

"All right then," Blair chuckled. "Why don't you get cleaned up and I'll go out and get us something. And while I'm out, I'll pick up some travel magazines and we'll start planning. All right?" 

"Sounds good." 

And with another one of those dazzling smiles, he dashed down the steps. I heard him grab his coat and his keys. Then with a shout of "Back in a few, Jim." the door slammed shut and all was quiet. 

I got out of bed and went down to the bathroom and climbed into the shower. As I stood under the soothing hot jets of water, letting it wash away the dirt and grime and lunacy of the day, I looked inside myself and I saw the void slowly, very slowly, filling in. I knew I still had a long way to go and a lot of healing to do. And that I still had to deal with my very real and very justified fear of putting Blair in harm's way. But I felt now that I could deal with all of that because for the very first time ever, I think, I felt hope. Knowing that Blair loved me made me feel like maybe I finally had a chance at a future and the happiness my mother had told me to find before she died. It was a strange, foreign feeling, but I liked it and I was going to go with it and see where it took me. 

**THE END**


End file.
